Nobility and Discernment
by scrimshaw
Summary: AU: Elizabeth Bennett is called home early from Hunsford due to a family emergency, changing the circumstances of her courtship with Mr. Darcy.
1. Chapter 33

Author's Note: This story began as a response to the AUs circulating here in Jane Austen land where Elizabeth marries Mr. Darcy due to her father's premature death. The ones I read were intriguing but did not convince me based on the justification they offered for the change of heart. I set out to discover how such a thing would occur, and produced the following.

Disclaimers: Pride and Prejudice was written by the very talented Jane Austen, and her characters and writing deservedly belong to her. The first chapter largely lifts from Austen's original writing, and I will intersperse my own with hers in an effort to keep this AU as close to canon as possible. If such usage of the text offends you, please do not read further.

Also, bear in mind that I am from the US and may, despite my best efforts, butcher the King's English with "Americanisms." I apologize for such inaccuracies, and will attempt to correct those I discover or that are brought to my attention via reviews. Thank you in advance for your kind critique.

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**Chapter 33**

More than once did Elizabeth, in her ramble within the park, unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. She felt all the perverseness of the mischance that should bring him where no one else was brought, and, to prevent its ever happening again, took care to inform him at first that it was a favourite haunt of hers. How it could occur a second time, therefore, was very odd! Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed like wilful ill-nature, or a voluntary penance, for on these occasions it was not merely a few formal inquiries and an awkward pause and then away, but he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her.

He never said a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of talking or of listening much; but it struck her in the course of their third rencontre that he was asking some odd unconnected questions—about her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collins's happiness; and that in speaking of Rosings and her not perfectly understanding the house, he seemed to expect that whenever she came into Kent again she would be staying _there_ too.

His words seemed to imply it. Could he have Colonel Fitzwilliam in his thoughts? She supposed, if he meant anything, he must mean an allusion to what might arise in that quarter. It distressed her a little, and she was quite glad to find herself at the gate in the pales opposite the Parsonage.

She was engaged one day as she walked, in perusing Jane's last letter, which had begun on trivial matters regarding entertainments in town, but had ended in such a way as to awaken a great curiosity and a hint of unease.

"My dearest Lizzie, you will be surprised, I have no doubt, to see I have returned home sooner than either of us had thought. Pray do not be alarmed, but our mother wrote to say that I am dearly needed there. She would not say the reason, only that it was of the upmost importance and I must directly return. I write to assure you of my good health and say that my Uncle Gardner will still send the chaise for you and Maria at the end of your visit. I shall write you again when I know more of the particulars."

She was ruminating on the possible meanings of such a summons, and dwelling on the abrupt phrasing that proved Jane had not written in spirits, when, instead of being again surprised by Mr. Darcy, she saw on looking up that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting away the letter immediately and forcing a smile, she said:

"I did not know before that you ever walked this way."

"I have been making the tour of the park," he replied, "as I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?"

"No, I should have turned in a moment."

And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage together.

"Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?" said she.

"Yes—if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases."

"And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least pleasure in the great power of choice. I do not know anybody who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy."

"He likes to have his own way very well," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. "But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others, because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence."

"In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of either. Now seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from going wherever you chose, or procuring anything you had a fancy for?"

"These are home questions—and perhaps I cannot say that I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater weight, I may suffer from want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like."

"Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often do."

"Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money."

"Is this," thought Elizabeth, "meant for me?" and she coloured at the idea; but, recovering herself, said in a lively tone, "And pray, what is the usual price of an earl's younger son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds."

He answered her in the same style, and the subject dropped. To interrupt a silence which might make him fancy her affected with what had passed, she soon afterwards said:

"I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for the sake of having someone at his disposal. I wonder he does not marry, to secure a lasting convenience of that kind. But, perhaps, his sister does as well for the present, and, as she is under his sole care, he may do what he likes with her."

"No," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "that is an advantage which he must divide with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship of Miss Darcy."

"Are you indeed? And pray what sort of guardians do you make? Does your charge give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage, and if she has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to have her own way."

As she spoke she observed him looking at her earnestly; and the manner in which he immediately asked her why she supposed Miss Darcy likely to give them any uneasiness, convinced her that she had somehow or other got pretty near the truth. She directly replied:

"You need not be frightened. I never heard any harm of her; and I dare say she is one of the most tractable creatures in the world. She is a very great favourite with some ladies of my acquaintance, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. I think I have heard you say that you know them."

"I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant gentlemanlike man—he is a great friend of Darcy's."

"Oh! yes," said Elizabeth drily; "Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him."

"Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that he told me in our journey hither, I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to him. But I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person meant. It was all conjecture."

"What is it you mean?"

"It is a circumstance which Darcy could not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the lady's family, it would be an unpleasant thing."

"You may depend upon my not mentioning it."

"And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning names or any other particulars, and I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer."

"Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this interference?"

"I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady."

"And what arts did he use to separate them?"

"He did not talk to me of his own arts," said Fitzwilliam, smiling. "He only told me what I have now told you."

Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling with indignation. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so thoughtful.

"I am thinking of what you have been telling me," said she. "Your cousin's conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?"

"You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?"

"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend's inclination, or why, upon his own judgement alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner his friend was to be happy. But," she continued, recollecting herself, "as we know none of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there was much affection in the case."

"That is not an unnatural surmise," said Fitzwilliam, "but it is a lessening of the honour of my cousin's triumph very sadly."

This was spoken jestingly; but it appeared to her so just a picture of Mr. Darcy, that she would not trust herself with an answer, and therefore, abruptly changing the conversation talked on indifferent matters until they reached the Parsonage. There she intended to shut herself in her room as soon as their visitor left them, but was interrupted by the arrival of the post. She gratefully accepted a letter from Jane and resolved to think on all she had heard at a later time.

It began in an unsteady hand. "My dear sister, I hardly know where to begin. I have neglected you in the midst of our troubles, and so now have the unhappy duty to inform you why I was summoned home. Our dear father, who you will recall had taken a slight cold when we departed, is not improved; far from it, for the doctor has ordered him to bed, and my poor mother is so distracted with worry that she has retired as well. She has begged me not to write you, for fear your absence would alert your hosts to our troubles prematurely, and in truth I agreed in the hopes that you might finish your visit without anxiety. Our father's condition has not improved, though, and I begin to have a real fear for him. Also, he has asked more than once when you will return. I am sure it would do wonders for him were you to come, and so I apologize for this harsh summons but do indeed earnestly beg your return as soon as may be arranged. I have written our uncle to find if he may send for you now, and have instructed him to address his reply to you. I will pray for your safe journey and remain, yours, Jane."

The tumolt of Elizabeth's mind barely allowed her notice of Jane's brief ending. "My poor father," was her primary concern. "And when I have been laughing and enjoying myself, to think what he has suffered!" There could be no reliance on her uncle's coach arriving early, that she believed, nor could she write home in hopes of having one. Every thought was of how her father must have suffered, and her dear Jane must be pressed. She briefly allowed her anger to rise at the man who, if his own vanity did not mislead him, was the cause of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. _He_ had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the world; and no one could say how this new crisis might but inflict a lasting evil on a sensitivity already taxed by sorrows and disappointed hopes.

Still, Lizzy was a practical creature, and though she was now certain beyond a doubt as to Mr. Darcy's guilt in the matter of Jane's discontentment, she could not in all fairness blame him for the timing of her father's illness. Nor did her affection and esteem for the one man give her much leave to dwell on her dislike of the other. Her father's health must be her primary concern, and with a final belief that he possessed a respectability Mr. Darcy would probably never reach, determined to put the matter away until such a time as she might think more clearly on the subject. Her fear and distraction, though, gave her a complete unwillingness to attend her cousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea. She had no wish to endure the censure of that society, or the impudent comment of Lady Catherine on such a personal subject.

Upon hearing her malady, Charlotte immediately offered to same home with her. It was soon decided that Mr. Collins alone would attend her Ladyship and nephews, as Maria was far too shy to venture forth into such company with only the unreliable aid of her brother-in-law to call on. He left in some degree of uncertainty as to what his proper course should be, and even went so far as to mention returning early, but was prevented such a dilemma by his wife's insistence that he should apprise Lady Catherine of the situation and reassure her as best he could. Mr. Collins promised to do so and left with a clear conscience, not the least bothered by his forgetting to offer his deepest sympathies.


	2. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34 **

Once alone, the ladies settled into a congenial, if not comfortable, communion. It was impossible to believe her mother's fears would come to fruition; but if that was true, it was equally impossible _not_ to think of it, and every kind comment from either companion only intensified the awkwardness of the situation. It was as Elizabeth had feared: in matters of greatest importance, there was not the easy trust and familiarity that had previously existed, and the ghost of such feelings shadowed their current friendship, amiable as it was. Still, in such times, a friendly ear and companionable listener are all that is required, and they soon found solace in recounting fond memories of childhood spent together that provided ample diversion from their current situation. It was, in fact, one of the most open and restorative conversations the two friends had shared during Elizabeth's tenure at Hunsford. Their reminisces eventually proved too much for young Maria, who with a final soft wish for recovery retired to her room.

It was into this benign atmosphere the maid entered to announce a visitor, and the shock of both ladies is imaginable when their caller was identified as Mr. Darcy. "What can this mean!" Charlotte declared as soon as the girl had left to bring him up.

"We are sure to learn soon enough," was her friend's brief reply.

Mrs. Collins was torn between a fleeting hope that her earlier suppositions about the gentleman's fancy for her friend would be proven true, and a more realistic fear that their absence from tea had resulted in real damage to her husband's position. Elizabeth was no less agitated, albeit for different reasons. Her chat with Charlotte had calmed some of those high feelings brought about by the double revelations of Mr. Darcy's involvement in Mr. Bingley's affairs and her father's ill health, but news that the man would soon stand before her stirred them back up in strong if not equal fervor.

Introductions were civil but strained on all sides. Mr. Darcy offered his sympathies, imputing his visit to a desire to deliver them in person, and with such a degree of unease as seemed to betray real feeling on the subject. Elizabeth accepted with all the civility she could muster, but afterwards left it to her friend to carry the conversation. This responsibility proved more difficult than was to be expected, as the gentleman answered any questions directed toward him with short replies that did not encourage further discourse, and Elizabeth said not a word. Charlotte soon gave off the attempt, and deciding there could be but one motive for such a tete-a-tete, discovered a real need to check on her sister. Elizabeth stirred herself enough to protest, offering to take on the task herself since Charlotte had company; the words fell on sympathetic but deaf ears, and Charlotte, with only a trace of guilt, left them to their own devices, praying that her friend's good sense would overcome any stubbornness or disapprobation in the face of such a generous proposal.

They sat in silence a moment, and then Mr. Darcy stood and walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, both by his earlier tone of distress and his apparent lingering unease. That such a display of feeling was due solely to her father's condition, she could not believe; but as for what motive it could have, she could not imagine. In truth, she had never seen him in such a state of agitation and discomfiture. His normal impassivity, which she usually took to be his excessive pride, was stripped away, giving face to a man very much in a fit of indecision. She found herself studying him, both out of curiosity at this unique occurrence and as a distraction from her own worry. Almost she could discover sympathy for him, for whatever was causing his distress mirrored hers in such a way as to invite it, but she suppressed the thought quickly at the memory of his unjust interference in regards to Jane, and she quickly reminded herself, Mr. Wickham. She could not work up much anger, though, and so devolved only into a mood of melancholy anxiousness.

At last, he returned to his chair, and spoke. "I must, again, offer my deepest sympathies for your situation. I imagine you will wish to return home immediately."

The abruptness of his speech startled her from her ruminations, and she was at first uncertain if he had simply stated the matter or asked a question. Deciding that she must offer a response in either case, however, she replied, "It is my most sincere wish, indeed, to return and assist my sisters in caring for my father. I doubt it will be anywhere near as soon as your departure, though, and probably will not occur until shortly before I was already scheduled to do so."

A brief look of something that in another person, she might call chagrin, briefly coloured his complexion, though on second thought she was more persuaded to call it pensiveness. Even so, they endured an uncomfortable silence for some moment, which if one were to judge by appearances, was equally painful for them both. Elizabeth was just thinking of some way to excuse herself, when Mr. Darcy lifted his chin and said, "It is of no consequence whether my cousin and I return to London a week later or not, and so I will instruct the carriage when it arrives to await you here at the Parsonage."

Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She recalled Colonel Fitzwilliam's confirmation that the cousins were to leave on Saturday, and had even felt some consolation that their visit to Rosings would end on the day after the next. Her greatest grief on first reading Jane's letter was that she had no quick, assured means of getting to Longbourn, and now here was provided the very means she sought, within a proper time to prepare to leave, by the man for whom she had resolved not hours before to have the deepest dislike for! She stared, coloured, doubted. Was he in fact serious? She could not recall an occurrence of his jesting about such affairs, whether at Netherfield or in their more intimate acquaintance at Rosings. But to allow her such a luxury, at her time of greatest need, was almost unimaginable; especially as it would require his association with a place and people he had prevented his dearest friend from forming any attachments to. She could not be insensible to the compliment, in spite of the high-handed manner in which it was dealt, or the degradation he must suffer both from his own pride and that of Lady Catherine, someone she could not imagine being in favour of such a scheme.

Seeing his eyes still fastened on her, she moved herself to answer. "I must thank you, sir, for the kindness of your offer. But I could not presume to burden you or Colonel Fitzwilliam with a further delay than you have already suffered. It is by no means certain that I will not find other methods of return, and indeed, I am sure my uncle will write soon regarding the use of his coach." At the last she was not quite able to maintain her poise, as she was in fact uncertain that such a thing would occur. However, she bore her trepidation with a smile, attempting to maintain the illusion of good humour even in the absence of its true self.

Mr. Darcy shook his head violently in response. "It will cause no great disruption to my own plans to remain longer, and it will be far easier to arrange an alternative than in your case. I believe—" and here he paused, again showing an uncertainty that she could scarcely countenance— "that we spoke once on how the distance between Hunsford and Hertfordshire must seem for those of inferior means, and that the current circumstances prove your argument."

"Perhaps, sir, but I have no wish to claim a prize in the contest; another means will have to be found."

"But there is no other means so readily available, and time is of the essence!" He argued vehemently, the disturbance of his mind visible in every feature. He struggled for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed himself to have attained it. The violence of his response stopped further argument on her part, and the pause was to Elizabeth's feelings dreadful. At length, in a voice much diminished from his usual tone, he said, "I had the great pleasure of seeing my father before his death due to the quick resourcefulness of others. It would be gross ingratitude and negligence to not offer to another what I was given, although I pray that our circumstances may differ in the final result of such service."

"Mr. Darcy—my thanks, sir," she offered haltingly, stunned by this further revelation from the man whose character she had thought so throughly known to herself. How altered and contradictory did he now appear; on the one hand, he had not offered the slightest apology or acknowledgement of his interference in the affairs of Mr. Bingley, and she nearly fancied she had been mistaken in the identity of what she had heard. But there could not exist in the world two men over whom Mr. Darcy could have such boundless influence, and she had never doubted that he had been concerned in the measures taken to separate Bingley and Jane. But on the other hand, she must acknowledge that to refuse him on this matter after such a revelation would be uncivil bordering on insult, and that to accept would place her in a state of gratitude toward him she could never repay. Her misgivings tempted her to refuse, but her reason and deep concern for her father would not allow her the luxury. If she must suffer the condescension of Mr. Darcy in order to return to her dear father, she would do it, and, she had to admit, gladly.

Her continued silence he considered sufficient encouragement; and he launched into a description of the coach and its stations, of points and departures, till she roused herself sufficiently to join him in deciding how best to accommodate the change in destination.

"But how and where shall I send it back?" Elizabeth's primary concern was voiced finally, and with some degree of trepidation, for she was quite sure what she aught to do, but unwilling to face it.

"My London address should be sufficient," Mr. Darcy answered, taking from her the responsibility of seeing it back personally. "My cousin and I are sure to avail ourselves of Rosing's coach, and thus will be able to receive it once you are sure of your arrival. We are often traveling in many circumstances, and will be quite able to accommodate ourselves."

Her colour rose at this perceived slight, but she swallowed her normal response, and goaded by his generosity, supposed that perhaps he was not quite aware of how his words might be taken to one not "often traveling."

Soon there was nothing more to discuss, save the nature of how Miss Lucas would arrive home, and that decision she assured him could be resolved between the Collinses and herself without much difficulty. They both rose for him to take his leave, but stood in an atmosphere of uncertainty that was barely more pronounced in Mr. Darcy than in Elizabeth herself. With any other person she would have felt compelled to offer some further kindness or refreshment, but his still unanswered-for transgressions stood between them, and she could not help feel that more than common civility would be both an insult to him and disloyalty toward Jane.

"I am sure my family will join me in thanking you for your great kindness," she finally offered demurely, struggling to keep any hint of her disquiet hidden.

"If you _will_ thank me," he replied, "let it be for yourself alone. I am sure your family owes me nothing." Then, as if thinking better of further remarks, he excused himself with a final wish of health for her family and hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the house.

Barely had he gone than Charlotte returned, and though Elizabeth quietly noted the convenience of it, she could not feel angry either at her friend or benefactor for their actions, which had wrought such good for herself. Thankfully, Charlotte did not offer any congratulations or suppositions on the nature of Mr. Darcy's actions, and they set to discovering how best to return Maria home at the appointed time.

It was only much later that Elizabeth was able to retire to her room, but she was unable to think very clearly about the many conflicting experiences she had encountered during the day. Her astonishment, as she reflected on what had passed, was increased by every review of it. At length, after being unable to entertain sleep or thought, she determined to write Mr. Gardiner of the arrangement made, though she was conscious with every word that her own return home would precede its arrival, thanks to the enigmatic Mr. Darcy.


	3. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

The day after was spent in a preparing for her departure, and a final trip to Rosings made absolutely necessary by her prior absence. The entire party arrived shortly before dinner, and was treated with a great exclamation on the part of Lady Catherine regarding Miss Bennett's choice of garment. "Are you in mourning yet, Miss Bennet?" she inquired loudly upon their arrival.

Elizabeth replied that she was not, to which her ladyship answered, "You look very much out of spirits, I am sure. A proper colour should have been applied: one should never wear blue when in poor spirits. I do not believe I have every allowed Anne to wear it—almost no one I have ever seen is flattered by it. You had much better wear lighter colours, Miss Bennett."

Mr. Darcy did not say a word, but looked slightly pained at the brusque manner of his aunt's speech, and Colonel Fitzwilliam took it upon himself to assure Elizabeth that he was most sorry she should have to leave under the circumstances. "And of course, it is quite right to take the carriage," he assured her, transparent concern overlaying his countenance.

"I am most grateful for your indulgence, Colonel Fitzwilliam," she said. "It is most generous on both your parts, and I do not quite know how I shall pay the debt."

He was prevented from offering answer by the announcement of dinner, and they all set to as her ladyship's loudly pronounced that the meal could not be altered on account of Miss Bennett's situation, and that she should feel free to avoid the mutton if she was so inclined. "It is really a great hardship that you must return so soon," Lady Catherine said after dispensing such culinary advice. "You have been here only five weeks. I expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came."

"I am sorry my family could not accommodate your ladyship better," Elizabeth answered. She could not help but look at Mr. Darcy as she did so, recalling his words of yesterday, and fancied she could see a touch of that unease she had seen so clearly before. It was swiftly replaced by a strong composure, however, and she wondered now whether the former or the latter feeling was the truer.

"I assure you, I feel it exceedingly," continued Lady Catherine; "I believe no one feels the loss of friends so much as I do. You must arrange to return some time; had you remained another month it would have been in my power to take you as far as London, for I am going there early in June, for a week; and as Dawson does not object to the barouche-box, there would be very good room, as you are not large."

Mr. Collins had a compliment, and an allusion to throw in here, which were kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter. Colonel Fitzwilliam looked on the verge of speaking, but could not when he abruptly took his napkin up in a fit of coughing. Mr. Darcy did not glance up from his plate, and both Mrs. Collins and Maria looked startled when Lady Catherine declared that in the absence of Miss Bennett, she supposed she might as well have Miss Lucas accompany her.

After dinner they were obliged to take up cards, but having an unequal party, Elizabeth was allowed to decline out of consideration for her situation. She took up a book instead, though without much success of distraction, as her thoughts were taken up wholly with thinking on her father, her dear Jane, and strangely enough, Mr. Darcy. _His_ behaviour she could in no ways understand, neither his previous offences nor his present magnanimity. He did not appear today to express the same deep concern as had marked him in the Parsonage yesterday; yet did he neither seem as aloof as his aunt, and he had not withdrawn his invitation. What could be the meaning of it all? The worry on both issues kept her from fully taking up her reading, and she turned the pages fitfully.

The card parties did not achieve any greater amusement from their time; Lady Catherine complained at her table that she could not fully enjoy her wins when Miss Bennett refused to take part in their amusement, and the other soon broke up as Mr. Collins and Maria Lucas were too timid to play well against Mr. Darcy, and Mrs. Collins to clever. Mr. Collins was then called upon to console her ladyship, at which Colonel Fitzwilliam took the opportunity to excuse himself.

"I am afraid I am not a great reader," she smiled at his approach, putting away the book in resignation.

"You are to be excused, I am sure, under the circumstances," he replied, taking the seat near her. "It is a terrible thing, and I am sure I echo my cousin in wishing your father the speediest of recoveries."

"Your words speak my thoughts, sir, for I am still quite surprised by your cousin's generosity. I had not expected such condescension."

"Oh, well, Darcy is really the most generous man I know. He quite puts me to shame, I am afraid, since I did not think of the suggestion myself until he apprised me of his intentions."

"Then he did not ask you before making the offer?"

"No, no, and it was quite unnecessary, as he surely knew I would only say yes. It is his way—and when he believes a thing ought to be done, nothing will dissuade from seeking the outcome."

Their words now brought on dangerous thoughts, as she saw insight into his actions regarding Mr. Bingley and feared to cause offense where formerly she had felt leave to feel as she pleased on the matter. "Indeed," said she, carefully. "And when he becomes so set, I hope it is after careful deliberation on the subject."

Fitzwilliam only looked bemused. "I should say so. Darcy will think and think on a subject till he quite wears it through, especially when it concerns those he cares about. It is what makes him such a wonderful brother."

The suggestion of Mr. Darcy's regard, however innocently made, caused Elizabeth to colour, especially as she considered that it could equally refer to Colonel Fitzwilliam's supposed attachment to herself. However, he had made it clear that he had no intentions at all, and agreeable as he was, she did not mean to be unhappy about him. Rather, her entire thought was now arrested by a desire to peer more deeply into his cousin's character. "Yes, you said as much yesterday. It is difficult, I suppose, for me to imagine, since I am come from a family of five. One may become quite attached to the one sister while not bearing the same affection for another, and so it is hard for me to see how tested Mr. Darcy is in terms of familial concerns." For Mr. Wickham, growing up as he did an intimate of the man in question, could surely be seen in light of a brother figure.

"As to what you say, I am not as untested as Darcy, seeing as I have a brother and a sister," Fitzwilliam said earnestly. "And I can assure that from our childhood, he has always been by far the most generous of our lot. I believe his current actions can serve as further proofs to you."

To such an assertion there could be no more polite delving, and they quickly shifted to other, less taxing subjects. Colonel Fitzwilliam was presently obliged to wait upon her ladyship, leaving Elizabeth to consider the testimony of a man who had surely known Mr. Darcy as long as Mr. Wickham had, and offered such a contrasting picture of him. Which man was to be believed? Prior to yesterday, she would have sworn both were amiable, honest gentleman she could put equal faith in; yet now she must chose, and chose wisely. Logic suggested she should appeal to the man himself for an explanation, but past distrust and her current sensibility made such a move on her part impossible. In her thoughts she drifted to the pianoforte, and was quite tempted to soothe her troubled thoughts with application to the instrument, when the very disturber of them approached her.

"Miss Bennett—" he nodded— "I have spoken with my driver, and all should be ready at your convenience tomorrow."

"Your consideration is quite complete, Mr. Darcy, and I am sure I can not repay the debt you leave me in."

Her words caused him a moment's pause, and she studied his reaction with great interest. Though he was as reserved as ever, she could now see that it was not due to lack of _feeling_, but perhaps simply a greater sense of deportment than the freer, country men _she_ was used to. She acknowledged to herself that her society had been somewhat limited, and that to judge another's character based solely on the likes of Sir Lucas was not becoming to any concerned. However, she could not so soon put down Mr. Wickham's open affinity, and felt she must have an answer in that regard at least. The situation regarding Jane and Bingley, though she might despise it, she could not bring herself to question him on; and besides, could possibly be attributed to a sense that he was in the right, however much she disagreed. With regards to Wickham, though, there was a case of blatant dishonesty and malice, such as completely disagreed with the current picture she was trying to conceive.

Before she could speak her thoughts, he began,

"I would appreciate your writing upon your arrival, Miss Bennett, if it would amendable to you, that I would know of your safe conduct. I can provide my card for the address."

This request was in keeping with the continuous sense of surprise she felt with regards to Mr. Darcy's actions of late, and she answered in amazement. "I am quite willing to do so, and will attempt it as soon as I have made certain of my father's condition." Then, seeking to find answers to her questions before her will deserted her completely, she continued. "You will excuse me for, sir, in finding such puzzlement in your generosity, however appreciative I am of it. Colonel Fitzwilliam assures me it is entirely in keeping with your general character."

A trace of weary humour crossed Mr. Darcy's features. "My cousin is at times more open than is necessary, and I am sorry if he has burdened you with any long histories regarding our family."

"On the contrary, he has given me much to think of. I only meant to say that he has challenged an account I had of you, which I now find I must answer when I return to Hertfordshire. Only, I am not sure what my answer should be."

"I see," Darcy's answer was short, and his haughtier was very much expressed. Elizabeth felt a return of her cherished dislike for his proud nature, and wondered that she had doubted this being his true face after all. "And might I inquire _who_ is the author of such an account?"

Feeling the very delicacy of her position, and not sure how truthful a response she would obtain were she to reveal Wickham's name, she only answered, "It hardly matters: it is only that someone had spoken, upon your initial arrival at Netherfield, that a member of your household felt disenfranchised in his inheritance. I may have misunderstood the particulars of what was related, though," she hastened to add, and waited for his reaction.

"I believe I understand the nature of your confusion," Mr. Darcy replied at length, with a cool civility much more familiar to her than the high emotion in her recent experience. "As I do not know the exact nature of what was related, I can not answer all that was said. I can say this, though: the person in question was not always so fond of his inheritance, and at one time gave it up all together."

"Oh?" Elizabeth said, attempting to find something in the conversations she remembered to disprove such a condemnation. In vain did she search: thus far it was still one man's word against another's. "It is strange, that a person in such a situation would not be merely grateful for the privilege, rather than seek other fortunes."

"Strange, yes, but not uncommon," Darcy agreed, and Elizabeth felt all the impoliteness of her inquiries. She could not afford to anger the man before her, but neither could she excuse him until she understood the complete truth. Colonel Fitzwilliam's assurances of his character added weight to Mr. Darcy's story, and gave her the courage to press one further question:

"Mr. Darcy, I have no wish to argue points with you that I may not be fully versed in. I would ask only one thing, on the understanding that upon my return I will have many important decisions to make, with regards not only to myself but my sisters as well, seeing as my parents are quite incapacitated at this time: Is Mr. Wickham to be trusted? And if he is not, what proofs can you offer against him?"

As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour, but seemed as much in a state of indecision as of indignation, mingling the unease she had observed in him yesterday with a sense of mortification and something else she could not quite name. She was just trying to decide on its meaning, and Mr. Darcy looked about to answer her, when they were interrupted by her ladyship loudly saying,

"Miss Bennett, you surely must retire early if you are to leave in the morning. You must do so at once, and see that you are aware of yourself on your return. It is really discreditable for you to go alone, though it can not be helped, and you should mention my name at the Bell, that you may be attended to."

Mr. Collins immediately took it upon himself to offer thanks and adieus for the whole party, and Elizabeth was forced to join him in taking leave of Rosings. As they parted, Lady Catherine, with great condescension, wished her a good journey, and invited her to come to Hunsford again next year; her eagerness, though, did not seem as great as it had at the start of their evening. Miss de Bourgh exerted herself so far as to curtsey and hold out her hand; Mr. Darcy only looked on gravely from his position by his relatives, and Colonel Fitzwilliam recalled his aunt's invitation with greater fervour, but no less appearance of consideration than his cousin.

Thus she took leave of that society for the last time, and realized on return to the Parsonage that she should probably never receive an adequate reply to her inquiry. She decided it might be for the best, as she had been in real danger of having a complete reversal of feeling toward too many people in her acquaintance at a time when she should focus solely on matters of her own family. Besides, it was unlikely, apart from the letter she had promised to write, that she should ever come in contact with Mr. Darcy again, and with such reassurances did she find herself able to take Lady Catherine's advice and retire early.


	4. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

On Saturday morning Elizabeth and Mr. Collins met for breakfast a few minutes before the others appeared; and he took the opportunity of paying the parting civilities which he deemed indispensably necessary.

"I know not, Miss Elizabeth," said he, "whether Mrs. Collins has yet expressed her sense of your kindness in coming to us; but I am very certain you will not leave the house without receiving her thanks for it. The favour of your company has been much felt, I assure you. We know how little there is to tempt anyone to our humble abode. Our plain manner of living, our small rooms and few domestics, and the little we see of the world, must make Hunsford extremely dull to a young lady like yourself; but I hope you will believe us grateful for the condescension, and that we have done everything in our power to prevent your spending your time unpleasantly."

Elizabeth was eager with her thanks and assurances of happiness. She had spent five weeks with great enjoyment; and the pleasure of being with Charlotte, and the kind attentions she had received, must make her feel the obliged. Mr. Collins was gratified, and with a more smiling solemnity replied:

"It gives me great pleasure to hear that you have passed your time not disagreeably, despite how ill your leaving takes both ourselves and the revered Lady Catherine. I am sure that were you able, you would further have enjoyed the extraordinary advantage and blessing we may boast of in regards to the intimacy we share with Rosings. With all the disadvantages of this humble parsonage, I should not think anyone abiding in it an object of compassion, as you can see on what a footing we are."

Words were insufficient for the elevation of his feelings; and he was obliged to walk about the room, while Elizabeth tried to unite civility and truth in a few short sentences.

"You may, in fact, carry a very favourable report of us into Hertfordshire, my dear cousin. I flatter myself at least that you will be able to do so. Lady Catherine's great attentions to Mrs. Collins you have been a daily witness of; and altogether I trust it does not appear that your friend has drawn an unfortunate—but on this point it will be as well to be silent. And now I would wish to instruct you in the nature of your hardship, and how best it may be bourne with the strength of Providence and sure resolve."

Elizabeth would have much rather dwelt on the nature of her friend's domestic comforts, and was not sorry that the recital of clerical comfort was interrupted by the lady of whom they had spoken. Poor Charlotte! it was melancholy to leave her to such society! But she had chosen it with her eyes open; and though evidently regretting that her visitor was to go, she did not seem to ask for compassion. Her home and her housekeeping, her parish and her poultry, and all their dependent concerns, had not yet lost their charms. At the last, too, they had found some means of restoring, through the bonding of shared sorrows, some measure of that openness and affection that had formally so marked their friendship.

At length the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels placed within, and it was pronounced to be ready. After an affectionate parting between the friends, where they promised with great tenderness to write, Elizabeth was attended to the carriage by Mr. Collins, and as they walked down the garden he was commissioning her with his best respects to all her family, not forgetting his thanks for the kindness he had received at Longbourn in the winter, and his tardy wishes for renewed strength and vigour toward Mr. Bennett, although in this latter case his pleas did not ring with the sincerity of his wife's. He then handed her in, and the door was on the point of being closed, when he suddenly reminded her, with some consternation, that she had hitherto forgotten to leave any message for the ladies and gentlemen at Rosings.

"But," he added, "you will of course wish to have your humble respects delivered to them, with your grateful thanks for their kindness to you!"

Elizabeth made no objection, and in truth, directed that her deepest gratitude be expressed again to all concerned; the door was then allowed to be shut, and the carriage drove off.

The journey was long and silent, leaving Elizabeth with only her thoughts and worry as companions. All her previous misgivings about Mr. Darcy now seemed insignificant as she again pondered the nature of her father's illness, and she reread Jane's letters repeatedly in hopes of discovering more. Her whole being was filled with a great dread, and she was as insensible to the unaccustomed luxury of the Darcy equipage as to how close this placed her to its owner. Briefly did she consider how to approach Mr. Wickham regarding his tale, but was so distracted from even that line of thought. There was never any future in their attachment, as she had assured her aunt, and now even more so had they none of them any time for officers. The whole of her remaining time was spent then in earnest contemplation of how best she could assist Jane in serving their father, and by what means either of them could take in ruling their sisters for this duration.


	5. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

It was the first week of May, in which the carriage carrying the young lady arrived at the town of ——, in Hertfordshire, and since there had been no time to make arrangements for Mr. Bennet's carriage to meet her, the whole wonderful coach was directed to Longbourn, where it was greeted by a great deal of excitement from its occupants; and after the first round of surprised greetings and questions was given, Elizabeth sought Jane privately, who came running down from her mother's apartment to meet her.

Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears filled the eyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether there was any change in her father's condition.

"Not since yesterday," replied Jane. "But now that you are here, dear Lizzy, I do pray he may recover his strength."

"Has my mother roused herself not at all?"

"No, though my aunt Phillips came to Longbourn on Tuesday; and was so good as to stay till Thursday with me. She was of great use and comfort to us all. And Lady Lucas has been very kind; she walked here on Wednesday morning to condole with us, and offered her services, or any of her daughters', if they should be of use to us."

"She had better have stayed at home," cried Elizabeth, but checked further remonstrations on the ambitions of Lady Lucas in her fervent desire to see her father for herself. Jane kindly offered to see to the coach, and soon Elizabeth was within her father's room, holding his hand and willing him to wake and look upon her.

After some moments he turned and saw her, his smile filling her heart with a peace it had not felt since first learning the dreadful news. "I am glad you are come back, Lizzy." His words were coarse, and brittle, but provoked an answering smile she hoped offered equal parts warmth to his.

"I am grateful to be here, and see to you," she answered. "I have much to tell you in regards to the Collinses, and Rosings, and will keep you up at all hours with my anecdotes; so that the doctor will be most displeased with my arrival."

"Yes," Mr. Bennet said, but was cut off by a loud, hacking cough that unnerved Elizabeth as none of her imagined fears had. She sprang to fetch him a glass of water, and after earnest application of it and a change of position, he at last subsided to a more relaxed pose. "Yes, you must speak of it at length," he finally made out, and then lapsed into a stillness most unlike his usual critical awareness.

"When you have rested, papa," Elizabeth assured him, and kissing his hand, excused herself to check on how the affairs of the house had been kept since the illness.

What she discovered was no small amount of discontentment possessed by all parties. Her mother had decided at the onset that perhaps it was an infectious disease, and banished the three girls in her household to the Phillips until the doctor assured her that there was not the slightest chance of any catching a cough. Thus, for nearly a week, Lydia and Kitty had been allowed to parade in town to their heart's content without the censure of their father or even the necessity of attending their mother, and were most sorry to come home. Mary had been greatly grieved at her forced eviction, and was still offended over some slight occurring at their aunt's which none of the three girls were willing to discuss in great candour; though Lydia loudly protested that Mary was a silly goose, and had possibly ruined forever any chance of their attending the officers at Brighton, as the ——shire were to leave Meryton in a fortnight.

"Are they indeed!" cried Elizabeth, with the greatest satisfaction.

"And I had so wanted papa to take us all there for the summer! It would be such a delicious scheme; and I dare say would hardly cost anything at all. Mamma would like to go too of all things! Only think what a miserable summer else we shall have!"

The girl's lack of concern for her father left Elizabeth nearly ill herself, and she did not hesitate to chastise her regarding the serious nature of their situation. She soon learned that her words were not to be accepted easily, as Jane, who had arrived soon after her mother decided it was both safe and imperative that she should return, had already attempted to rein the girls in with limited success. Errands to town had been curbed to once a week, and their expenses had been threatened with such a curb that both Kitty and Lydia cried they should never be able to show themselves in public even were they allowed to. Mary only kept to a corner with her books and occasionally offered a platitude of concern and judgement, which did nothing to soothe tempers on any side.

At last she and Jane retired together to discuss the situation, and Elizabeth learned that Miss Bennett's economy was very much required. The doctor in Meryton had felt the case beyond his means after several unsuccessful treatments, till Jane had at last applied to the Gardiners to recommend a doctor from town. The monthly balls of Meryton and regiment of militia had already drained their resources, which would have been recovered easily with that year's harvest, had the doctors and their expenses come but three months later. As it was, they were at their worst time of the year financially, and were beginning to seriously be in danger when it came to the upkeep of the house.

"I confess, Lizzy," Jane said, "that I have almost written to Miss Bingley, hoping perhaps she might know of some other physician our own relatives may not, but have feared it would seem to forward a request."

Elizabeth at once agreed they should not press on new acquaintances until there was no other option, and secretly felt all the difference there should be in their situation had all their hopes in that corner been realized. It could scarcely not occur to Jane as well, and they quickly moved from that subject to one of more interest for Miss Bennet.

"We had not expected you so soon, and in _such_ a splendid coach! Did the Collinses arrange the device?"

"No, my help came from a most unexpected source—" and here, Elizabeth made the revelation of its owner, and the particulars of how she came to it.

Miss Bennet's astonishment was soon lessened by the strong sisterly partiality which made any consideration for Elizabeth appear perfectly natural; as her own feelings toward the gentleman had never been as negative as her sister's, she could easily imagine such generosity in him.

"It is quite an honour, and a compliment to you, Lizzy," she exclaimed, adding; "But we must find some means of thanking him, I am sure, and perhaps you will know the best way, being in his company now more than myself. Still, with how we are pressed, I know not how to offer restitution, and perhaps after all, his kindness would not allow us to take the trouble."

This seemed more wishful hope than reality to Elizabeth, and she said as much. "You have not heard all, Jane, for I felt I must at least confront him on the nature of Mr. Wickham before throwing myself so much in his power. He did not deny anything, but only appeared offended, and offered a view that Mr. Wickham in fact threw off the inheritance himself, without thought to the will or his father's intentions. But if that is the case, then he has behaved abominably, to accuse Mr. Darcy of such a thing without the truth of it; and if it is not, the fault is again at Mr. Darcy's, since he has now completely denied his own culpability."

What a stroke was this for poor Jane! who would willingly have gone through the world without believing there to be such wickedness in the two individuals. Most earnestly did she labour to prove the probability of error, and seek to clear the one without involving the other.

"This will not do," said Elizabeth; "you never will be able to make both of them good for anything. Take your choice, but you must be satisfied with only one. Of late it has been shifting about pretty much, and I am no longer sure what I should believe. But Jane, I must beg you, should I confront Mr. Wickham regarding this?"

Miss Bennet paused a little, and then replied, "Surely there can be no occasion at present for us to attempt it, and if we were to go in town, to expose him so dreadfully in the asking. What is your opinion?"

"That it ought not to be attempted. For if he is in truth guilty of such slander, we can certainly not entertain his presence again, for the insult it must do Mr. Darcy and his kindness to us. But if he is not, I do not see even then that we can ever be on good terms, now that we must be obliged to the very person who has so ruined him."

"You are quite right, and perhaps there are even yet more facts the which may direct us to a better understanding of them both, were we aware of them. At present, the officers are to be removed soon, and we may at least part as distant friends if nothing else."

"Yes, there is that. It is quite a silly set of circumstances, and I can not help but appreciate what wit and cleverness might be derived from it later. To be in Mr. Darcy's carriage all the way from her ladyships's to Longbourn! Had you told me so last fall, I would have denied your sense and laughed."

"Lizzy, when you spoke to him then, I am sure you could not treat the matter as you do now."

"Indeed, I could not. I was uncomfortable, worried, and I may say, very unhappy. Charlotte was a great comfort, but I could not speak to her as I am to you about this, and there was my dear father to consider! Oh! how I wanted you!"

This matter settled between them, they turned back quickly to the affairs of Longbourn and began making plans for how based to manage the household while they must. They still had some sources not touched, and with prudence and good sense, soon decided that they should be able to last until September, when the harvest and their incomes would come in; though of course, they assured themselves their father would be well long before _then_, at which point all such matters would be out of their hands.

Elizabeth at last met with her mother, and was forced to endure a long hour of groanings, complaints about how affairs had stretched her nerves, petty slights perceived by Hill and the servants; in short, nearly everything that could be considered the matter except for Mr. Bennett's health.

"Well, Lizzy," said she, "what is your opinion _now_ of this sad business of Jane's? For my part, I am determined never to speak of it again to anybody. I told my sister Phillips so the other day. But I cannot find out that Jane saw anything of him in London, though she was not there so very long. Well, he is a very undeserving young man—and I do not suppose there's the least chance in the world of her ever getting him now. There is no talk of his coming to Netherfield again in the summer; and I have inquired of everybody, too, who is likely to know."

"I do not believe we may depend on his returning;" for certainly, if Mr. Darcy did not provide his support for the venture, Mr. Bingley would never go against his friend's stern reproofs to attempt it.

"Oh well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to come. Though I shall always say he used my daughter extremely ill; and if I was her, I would not have put up with it. Well, my comfort is, I am sure Jane will die of a broken heart; and then he will be sorry for what he has done."

But as Elizabeth could not receive comfort from any such expectation, in light of the other spectre so very near them, she made no answer.

"Well, Lizzy," continued her mother, soon afterwards, "and so the Collinses live very comfortable, do they? Well, well, I only hope it will last. And what sort of table do they keep? Charlotte is an excellent manager, I dare say. If she is half as sharp as her mother, she is saving enough. There is nothing extravagant in _their_ housekeeping, I dare say."

"No, nothing at all."

"A great deal of good management, depend upon it. Yes, yes, _they_ will take care not to outrun their income. They will never be distressed for money. Well, much good may it do them! And so, I suppose, they often talk of having Longbourn—" but here her mother could not continue, looking so ill and despondent that Elizabeth felt a stirring of sympathy for her as she had not in many years, and realized that for all her weak understanding and illiberal ways, Mrs. Bennett felt the desperateness of their situation as much as Jane or Elizabeth; and perhaps the more, seeing that her deepest fears might soon prove reality.

It was a distressing thought, and furthered the doubt in her own perceptions which her indecision over Mr. Darcy's actions and words had begun. Much as she had censured Jane for her inability to come to a firm conclusion on the subject, she was by no means herself assured of the right course any longer; and found that, without the immediacy of the gentleman's presence or liberality to distract her, she could not ever find a circumstance where he had behaved worst than rude, and indeed had the proof of all others that he was a good, kind, and generous person. Of Wickham she tried to recollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence, that might absolve him in whatever might have truly passed between himself and Mr. Darcy. But no such recollection befriended her. She had never heard of him before his entrance into the ——shire Militia, in which he had engaged at the persuasion of the young man who, on meeting him accidentally in town, had there renewed a slight acquaintance. Of his former way of life nothing had been known in Hertfordshire but what he told himself.

As a distraction to her increasing fear and unhappiness in her father's deterioration, it proved quite a thorough subject for exploration. As a matter of earnest study, though, she could not apply it, for she was kept busy by a continued attempt at managing Longbourn, keeping her sisters in check as best as she and Jane were able, and attending her father's bedside. All other matters were secondary, to the point where she did not think of her promise to write Mr. Darcy until a week had passed and the coach already sent away.

"Later," she promised, "I will write when I know something definitive to say."

As it was, the state of Mr. Bennett's health was of such an uncertain quality, that she did not feel herself capable of relating it even to Charlotte, let alone to Mr. Darcy. She did not go into town at all, and only heard of the militia's leave by the wailing of Lydia and Kitty, and the irritable complaint of Mrs. Bennett that surely the distraction of Brighton would do them some good in their time of misfortune. Jane and Elizabeth only shook their heads and looked over the accounts in growing anxiety.

Elizabeth did take the time one day to consider that Wickham, for all his perceived partiality and welcome in their home, had never once called to express his sympathies, or so much as written before departing. While it might not be a firm statement on all of his character, it stood in stark contrast to the one he had so maligned as insensitive to the affairs of others, but who had proven through his actions the opposite.

"Go then," she murmured late at night, at last deciding there could be no excuse for such abandonment, especially in view of the knowledge that his tepid courtship of Miss King had dropped after her removal to Liverpool. "Go, in good health, and may we never have need to meet again."


	6. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

There was a great dejection over the house at Longbourn, and the elder sisters bore no better countenance than the younger, if for differing reasons. Kitty and Lydia's constant pining for the pleasures of town and the absent officers, in complete disregard to their worsening plight, disturbed even Jane; and Elizabeth came very close to losing _her_ temper completely. They were quite fortunate that Maria Lucas returned to Lucas Lodge on the next week, as it provided them with some distraction. Mrs. Bennett allowed herself just well enough to come down and converse with them about the Collinses, but the situation was just awkward enough that all sides kept their worst feelings in check, and the visit was amiable enough.

It was fortunate for Elizabeth that she had at last rallied to her delayed correspondence, as she could inquire after Mrs. Collins with a clear conscience and received word that her letter was well received.

"Oh! and I am quite silly, for I forgot I was supposed to give you this!" she cried suddenly, taking up her bag and extracting an envelope with care. "I promised him to give it to you straight away, and see, I have made sure not to crease it."

Elizabeth's curiosity was piqued, as she could think of only three gentleman who could have addressed such a letter to her, though she felt some reproach at the reminder that she had yet to finish hers to one of them. She was fortunately saved having to publicly confirm her suspicions by the want of attention paid the exchange, as Mrs. Bennett and Lady Lucas were endeavouring to determine how soon Mr. Bennett might recover, while Lydia, in a voice rather louder than any other person's, spoke of the last escapade she had played with the officers to anybody who would hear her.

"La, if we could be go to Brighton!" she exclaimed loudly. "I am sure we should all be much gayer, even Lizzy, who might at least then speak to Mr. Wickham; and then it would surely improve my father's health ever so much."

"Yes, my aunt Phillips said the same," added Kitty.

To this Mary very gravely replied, "In times such as these, we may be sure of only one thing–that though we may gratify our vanities with pleasure, we must always be certain that the rain shall fall on the just and the unjust. It behoves us, then, to make best use of our time in study."

No one could give much answer to this, least of all Lydia. She seldom listened to anybody for more than half a minute, and never attended to Mary at all.

There was a frequent discussion in Longbourn regarding a visit to Brighton. Mrs. Phillips had indeed suggested that such a trip might prove medicinal, and the eldest Miss Bennets had discussed it thoroughly before deciding that the travel and nearness of the militia would prove a greater strain on their budget than applying to the London physician again. Their discouragement had been such as to disapprove even the tentative suggestion by Colonel Forester that his wife might enjoy company in the form of Lydia; fortunately, the girl had never heard the hint, as the Colonel felt it prudent to speak circumspectly, and with their father and mother both in bed, it was to Jane that he made the appeal. Had Lydia and her mother known the substance of that conference, their indignation would hardly have found expression in their united volubility. As it was, they were no less vocal on the subject. Though Elizabeth and Jane had no intention of yielding, neither could they feel truly secure in their decision, especially as their father worsened and the restorative power of the baths was extolled repeatedly in their presence; and their family, though often disheartened, had never yet despaired of succeeding at last.

Once their guests had departed for home, Elizabeth excused herself to her room and opened her mysterious letter. She perceived an envelope containing one sheet of letter-paper, written quite through, in a very close hand. It was dated from Rosings, about a day after she had departed, and was as follows:—

"Be not alarmed, madam, that receiving this letter in such an uncommon way, its contents are anything beyond that of friendly concern. I have debated how best to respond to the question you posed, and decided that should you be so kind as write, as we had discussed, my reply would suffice as a reply. However, knowing as I do the circumstances that can arise in such a time, I do not doubt that writing to a distant acquaintance will not be first served in your tasks. Pardon me, for I do not mean to imply a deficiency or familiarity with your correspondence, but merely that the commonality of experiences lends me to the supposition. If such be not the case, then this letter is entirely unnecessary, and further reading is both superfluous and absurd. Coming back to my point, though, I can imagine that it may be some time before the opportunity arrises that you may write, and due to the important nature of your inquires, my honour and my character demand that I answer them in as clear and expedient manner as possible. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings on the subject to be expounded I can not tell, but I appeal to your justice that you examine its contents with the same sincerity and openness as you displayed in its asking at Rosings.

Of what Mr. Wickham has _particularly_ accused me I am ignorant; I may presume, from certain implications in our past acquaintance, that it is something to the degree that I had, in defiance of various claims, ruined the immediate prosperity and blasted the prospects of that man. It is true that he was the companion of my youth, the acknowledged favourite of my father, and had scarcely any other dependence than on our patronage. That I should willfully and wantonly throw off him would be a crime of such caprice and depravity that there could be no just excuse. The facts of the matter, however, are these, to which I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity.

Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge—most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education. My father was not only fond of this young man's society, whose manner were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities—the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have. Here I have answered the first part of your charge, and must emphatically state that Mr. Wickham can not be trusted. It is the second part of that question that has give me such pains in my hesitation to write, but both in justice to yourself and your appeal in regards to your sisters, who I know are much in his company, I can not help but comply with your request. If my response seems censored, it is because it deals with a matter most sensitive not only to myself but others I hold most dear, and with the uncertain quality of this letter's delivery, I must settle for less than I would if writing to you personally, as I feel no doubt of your secrecy; and trust that when and if I am granted the opportunity, I may give a better description of affairs. That you may settle your mind on these matters with firm belief, however, I will endeavour to provide you with an abbreviated but sure account:

After the deaths of my excellent father and the good Mr. Wickham some five years ago, the son informed me, as I did you, that he resigned all claim to assistance in the church, and accepted in return three thousand pounds, which he claimed would further a study of the law. I rather wished, than believed him to be sincere. All connection between us seemed now dissolved. Free from all restraint, his life was one of idleness and dissipation for three years; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition to it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances—and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his reproaches to myself. After this period every appearance of acquaintance was dropped. How he lived I know not. But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice.

I may not divulge all here, but suffice to say that Mr. Wickham's villainy is not only related to the wild practices of gaming and drink that is the cause of his current meagre existence, but he also possesses an impropriety that nearly entangled a virtuous young lady of my acquaintance in the most terrible of arrangements. She was then but fifteen, which must be her excuse; and I am happy to say, it was only prevented by the lady's own discretion, who unable to support the idea of grieving and offending her family, acknowledged the whole to me. To prevent public exposure, I only wrote Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately. Mr. Wickham's chief object was unquestionably the lady's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed.

This, madam, is a faithful, if edited, narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he had imposed on you; but his success is not perhaps to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of everything concerning either, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination. I recognize that my proofs, such as they are, may still be found wanting, and must trust to your excellent judgement on the matter for its good. I do not write as an inducement to pity or a strategy for some argument's settlement, but as a warning to your family in your time of need, to which I now offer again my deepest wishes for its positive resolution; and, as a means of fulfilling that trust which you so candidly gave, in seeking the truth of the matter between us. I will only add, God bless you.

"Fitzwilliam Darcy."


	7. Chapter 39

**Author's Note**: Thank you for everyone who has offered their kind critique and readership. It is most appreciated, and I hope has improved this chapter. It is rather long, and I had considered posting it as two chapters, but did not see a good way to break it. I therefore crave your indulgence, and believe that I can assure you that the plot will divide further from the original quite soon.

* * *

**Chapter 39**

It may be supposed with what incredulity and eagerness did Elizabeth first read, and then reread, the letter. She had formed no great expectations of what it might contain, beyond that of a polite note regarding her safe arrival or care of his carriage. With amazement did she understand that this was an answer to her own limited investigation, which she had nearly forgotten in the caring of her family. Her feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined. Had she been given such an obscure explanation that night, or even a week ago, she would probably have doubted, and, she was pained to admit, most likely entertained a strong prejudice against his veracity due to his still unexplained interference with Jane.

However, she had been forced to admit even at Rosings that the nature of Mr. Wickham's tragedy was of such a strong nature that the separation of two young persons, whose affection could be the growth of only a few weeks, could bear little comparison. Her own observations had shown that at least in the weightier affair, her facts and beliefs must be questioned; and Mr. Wickham's clear disdain to involve himself in the case of their current strife, coupled with Mr. Darcy's unexpected generosity, had long since caused to believe that whatever the altercation between the two, there was at least blame on both sides.

If she had given up Wickham's blamelessness, though, she had certainly not ascribed such a condition to Mr. Darcy, and there was just enough of her aversion left as to feel that some important fact had been kept from her in the circumstances related.

The entanglement he spoke of provoked her, as he seemed to again show a selfish disdain for the feelings of others. He spoke of the lady's discretion, and the family's disinclination, no more fervently than he did of her having more wealth than her suitor, and for a moment, she maintained that this was no different than poor Jane's own situation, and resolved that she would not be persuaded. There were two lines, though, that would not allow such feelings to hold sway, and which caused her, on fleeing the house for a walk of the grounds, to take the letter back out and review that place again and again.

The first was that the lady in question was but fifteen, far too young an age for any man, much less one who was some years Elizabeth's senior. She could not read those words and help thinking of her own sisters—of Lydia especially—and how a young person might be persuaded to believe herself in love where none truly existed, and thus be taken the advantage. The Bennets were luckily too poor to be an object of prey to anybody; but in similar circumstances, if thirty thousand pounds were added?

It chilled Elizabeth to think that, were her father's situation but slightly altered, they might all have faced such devious schemes. If Jane, with her even temper and unassuming manner, had been dealt fortune as well as beauty, she might well have faced more serious broken dreams than that of Mr. Bingley.

For the first time did Elizabeth, who had never cared for the vagaries of society and taken delight in her caricature of those who did, appreciate what the differences of station must truly mean; almost she could find pity for even Miss Bingley, whose brother's situation must give her both security and vulnerability—and in the examination of her sister Hurst's case, it was little wonder that she sought someone of such a beneficial character as Mr. Darcy seemed to possess, notwithstanding the financial incentives involved.

And if such were the case for young ladies, it was just as surely the case for young men, and Elizabeth thought with shame of her mother's gross speculations with regards to the Netherfield arrangement. This line of reasoning was connected with the next phrase to draw her attention, for it seemed that, despite how carefully Mr. Darcy had attempted to word his account, he had written more than he perhaps intended. He meant to portray himself as a close friend or bystander to the events, which had originally caused her to believe the case to be the same as his friend Bingley's—and her sister's. However, his last words on the subject seemed to carry more meaning, and as she examined it with the firmest intention of keeping impartial, she was again struck by the succinct but strong emotion they contained: "His revenge would have been complete indeed."

Surely such a sentiment, which stood in stark contrast to the normal reserve and forbearance he had displayed throughout the rest of the letter, implied a deeper relationship than confidante. To Elizabeth, the meaning must be that he was somehow related to the person, and had kept the relationship hidden for fear of soiling the good lady's name and worth. He all but admitted so in explaining why Wickham's character was not more widely known; and surely, if it was revenge sought, there could be none greater than to prey on someone so very close to the object of its passion. If such conclusions were true, they firmly settled the question of the two men's culpability: the one had all the innocence in the matter, the other all the appearance of it.

Elizabeth remembered how often she had heard Mr. Darcy speak affectionately of his sister, and how all (Colonel Fitzwilliam, the Bingleys, and even Mr. Wickham himself) had portrayed him as devoted to his family. Then, she had her own private confession to recall, in which he displayed the greatest compassion in speaking of his father's death, and how it had urged him to offer what aid he could. Could such a man, who by so many varied accounts was warm and protective of those in his care, not be greatly offended by such an offence, such a transgression as was laid at the feet of Mr. Wickham? and would he not do all he could to prevent it? If indeed he had been so wounded by someone who should have held his greatest trust but months prior to his stay at Netherfield, then perhaps the serious objections he entertained toward the match were not that of wealth or station, but rather manners and propriety which, it pained her to admit, their family little displayed. In her mother and sisters there must have been a real insult to his character, with their free and wanton behaviour, and her father had merely been content to chuckle at their follies than control them.

To think that it was to Jane's own family that her unhappiness was partly due! For Elizabeth still felt it was wrong of Mr. Darcy to have equated the designs of a fortune hunter with the sincere, if muted, affections of her sister, without taking the trouble to find the truth of the matter out. If there was error involved, it was perhaps on all sides. "And besides, I have not the ability to check against other witnesses or determine the full truth of the matter."

She could admit to having been partial in her judgement of the two men, flattered perhaps by the strong attention and affirmation of her views which a charming companion might offer. It would not have been quite so difficult to accept if she had been in love, but she had not even that excuse. It was really vanity and not attraction that had been her delusion.

Finding herself quite far from home, she turned down the lane to hurry back. If she had been prejudicial in her initial judgements, than she would be circumspect in her future ones, and as neither gentleman (if indeed both could be called such) were likely to be much in her presence ever again, she would not malign one to excuse the other. Should she discover from Meryton any further evidence to point to Mr. Darcy's account, she would accept it as the case, but if not, she would only take it as a lesson in deception and appearances, and follow Jane's example in believing there must be some facts out of her possession that pointed to a less extreme account than either man had drawn. Mr. Wickham's absence, and his inability to affect them regardless of the case, gave her the liberty, and she took it with relief.

"Oh Lizzy, do come quick!" Kitty cried as Elizabeth entered the door. "Papa has collapsed, and Jane says we must call the doctor at once!"

All thoughts of her resolution fled as she rushed to see to her father. The doctor was summoned, and the rest of the day was shared with Jane in nursing both their father and mother, and consoling their sisters, who at last begin to feel some sense of that fear which the elder two were so familiar with. Lydia even went so far as to burst into tears as she attempted to mend a hat, saying that if her father were to die, how she should ever find the means to finish it? Though the expression of her sentiments was of her usual, careless sort, Elizabeth could appreciate the deeper emotion which perhaps provoked them, and took time to offer the girl a handkerchief and the use of what little ribbon they had left.

"I suppose it is far too late now, to go to Brighton," were the final words she uttered before retiring, and it was the most solemn tone she had adopted in over a year.

The doctor's words on the subject were of equal solemnity: he insisted on speaking directly to Mrs. Bennet on the matter, though he had previously been content to engage her daughters. Once in her room, he explained that what he had originally taken to be a slight cold, and then a fever, was probably now an infection so buried in the lungs as was not likely to be removed. All normal methods had been tried in vain, and no amount of droughts or potions, in his opinion, would do any good.

"You had much rather save your money," was his advice.

"What shall we do then?" Mrs. Bennet rallied to ask.

"Pray."

He left final instructions for how best to care for the man, was paid his last bill, and left. The three women turned to each other with dumb expressions of horror. It was Mrs. Bennet who spoke first, as she stood and opened the door. "Hill! Hill!" She turned toward her daughters with a weary but stern frown. "Well, I do not understand how my brother could entrust us to such a simpleton as that, nor why we should have paid him when he abandons his charge. I know you girls have done your best, and if my nerves had allowed me, I might have guided you better. But it is past time for us to do something, and I will not stand by and see the Collinses throw us out in this state of affairs."

The Miss Bennets turned to each other in astonishment as the housekeeper quickly answered her summons. "Ah, there you are Hill. You must make sure we have a proper supper tomorrow evening, as I expect Mr. Bennet will wish for something more filling than the broth he has been served."

Their astonishment turned to fear for their mother's health, and Mrs. Hill only gave a slight "Oh!" of protest before wisely listening to the rest of Mrs. Bennet's instructions and retreating to the safety of the kitchen.

"But mamma," Jane spoke as soon as the door had closed, "the doctor says our father must not be moved, nor his diet changed."

"Obviously the man does not know what he is about; I have not hear that this regiment has worked any great wonders, and so we may as well depend on our _own_ judgement as his. Oh, I know how it is, for doctors will say anything when they have a mind to, and I am sure this one thought we could offer him no more in service. Well, we are quite able to look after things, I should think, regardless that the best hopes for our future were destroyed months ago by you, Miss Lizzy, with your shameless way in treating Mr. Collins. Well, we are all sorry now, I suppose, even your father, and it is as well that we maintain appearances now."

"There can not be now a single soul who does not know our distress," Elizabeth said after recovering herself sufficiently for reply. "I am sure it would be much better to find if there is anyone now who may help us."

"We have had far too much of help as it is, and I intend to ensure we will not need so afterwards!"

At length, the two sisters convinced their mother to at least allow _them_ to write for aid as they could, for in truth, the sort of appearances Mrs. Bennet desired to maintain were already beyond their reach. No longer did they think of writing for a physician's recommendations; even if they had not believed the former, they had not the money to procure another. Their mother maintained that she would have her dinner, and they finally ceased from arguing, and only retired with the thought of conference in how best to form their addresses.

"I believe, Lizzy, that I must write the Bingleys," Jane admitted when they were alone. "It is not that I desire their comfort or assistance, as our acquaintance is not so well-formed as to merit such an appeal. But they were quite kind to us, and I am sure had I staid in town longer I might at least have continued my friendship with Miss Bingley. She did me such a kindness, in writing of her own family's affairs, that it is only polite to return the confidence."

Elizabeth did not trust herself completely with an answer; she still had no feeling that Miss Bingley desired anything but to sever relations with them at all, but found she could not chastize Jane's hopes with the severity she might once have. She had not had time to tell Jane of her letter, and now decided such disclosure would be pointless: it could only result in bringing more pain to them both, and they did not need such now.

"You should do it, then, though I do not know that the confidences are of equal proportion in merit and intention." It was the most polite way she could frame her reply.

"Oh, I know your thoughts on her, and perhaps after all your are more in the right. It is not as if there is any danger in that corner now." Jane laughed, but it was not healthy to Elizabeth's ears.

Mrs. Phillips, at her sister's summons, joined them the next day as the two were about to set to their correspondence, beginning with the Gardiners. She was most useful in entertaining Mrs. Bennet, and sharing news from town that she thought would be the most diverting to them. Elizabeth had mostly ignored her gossip, till she heard a name that drew her from her letter with a start.

"I see that you heard me mention your favourite, Mr. Wickham," Mrs. Phillips remarked gaily. "You will be even more shocked by what I have to relate of him."

All Meryton, it seemed, was united in blackening the man who, but three months before, had been almost an angel of light. He was declared to be in debt to every tradesman in the place, and his intrigues, all honoured with the title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesman's family. Everybody declared that he was the wickedest young man in the world; and everybody began to find out that they had always distrusted the appearance of his goodness.

Though she did not credit above half of what was said, it was enough to undo every lingering doubt in the nature of Mr. Wickham's character, and indeed, that of Mr. Darcy's. Had Elizabeth been well enough to be very troubled by it, her mortification would have been severe. She had been completely in the wrong; there was no longer any excuse to use. Mrs. Phillips wrongly surmised that her bleak smile was an invitation for further details, and she set to with a gusto encouraged by their mother, who seemed to forget she had insisted that Mr. Bennet come down to the sitting room after breakfast.

The small diversion that lighted Elizabeth's features was not delight in more exaggerated depictions of those evils already described, but her natural taste of finding amusement in the absurdities of life. It was now not in others that she saw it, but herself. How strange, that she had been driven to such high emotion by the affairs of veritable strangers so short a time ago, when she now faced an affair of much greater importance and with such a lessening of spirit than she had displayed in defense of Mr. Wickham. To be so deceived, not only in another's true character, but by where her priorities should be, was too peculiar not to appreciate. It was a well-chosen defense against despair, and prevented her from too much grief in regards to the past or future.

She had at least the great relief that she had never bluntly betrayed her false beliefs to Mr. Darcy in a moment of indiscretion. That and the compliment he paid her in his letter were small comforts in the midst of such troubles, but comforts none the less. Briefly did she entertain speculation has to what poor lady it was who had nearly suffered so miserable a fate: there were only three female relations she knew of in his connection. Miss de Bourgh she dismissed immediatley, which left Miss Darcy and the Fitzwilliam sister. A moment's speculation could not decide her, and she soon left it off as both unnessary and shameful. Whichever one it was, she was safe now, and there was no need to dwell further on it.

She now felt all that she owed this man, for had she indeed waited for her uncle's chaise, she might have been too late to enjoy the many hours she had spent in her father's company, whether in reading, song, or simple care.

Such a gift, as the gentleman had said, could never be repaid, and she now saw how silly was her delay in thanking him for the kindness he had shown her. Too, his letter should receive some just reply, as it displayed a great nobility of spirit, and a marked reliance on her discernment that seemed now proven unfounded. Had she been given to overly romantic sensibilities, or actually been insulting toward him, she might have forborne to take up her pen.

But Elizabeth did not entertain any notions that her offences were greater than what they were, nor did Mr. Darcy's letter give her cause to believe any words of hers would be unwelcome. She therefore penned a brief note of thanks, which grew into a page of reflection, and soon became a small epistle in which she finally admitted to having doubts as to his character, but assured him that not only did she but the whole town know the true nature of things, and offered her apologies for her own short-sightedness. As Jane had said, there could be little danger in the writing, and she it was after all the right thing to do.

To think that she would have so much to say to Mr. Darcy! Her disbelief nearly caused her to laugh aloud, and the very comfort such a feeling brought strengthened her regard for the man and resolve to send the entire letter unchecked. It was not to be imagined that they would enjoy any great correspondence, and so she justified the one example's length and sent it before she could repent the decision or expense.


	8. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

The Gardiners were prompt in their response. They had in fact only been waiting for permission to journey to Longbourn, and barely had their reply been received then they themselves arrived. It was arranged for the children, two girls of six and eight years old and two younger boys, to stay with the Phillips in town, for fear of any susceptibility to the illness, and to keep from taxing their Bennet cousins in their time of grief. Their gay spirits brought a pleasant, if brief, distraction.

Mr. Gardiner at once met with his sister, a conference he deemed it best to make without the presence of his nieces, and which at least produced the result that there was no further talk of changing Mr. Bennet's treatment. It was not to be expected that Mrs. Bennet could completely amend her feelings or wishes, but at least her protests were not quite so loud or spiteful toward her daughter, and she seemed as relieved as any to turn the responsibility of the household over to other hands.

His next concern was the accounts, and he complimented Jane and Elizabeth on their industry. "I do not see how it could have been better managed, and I am sure your father would join me in saying so," he said. After some perusal, he insisted that the situation was not as bleak as they had feared, and that he would consult with the farm and tenants to see how best to manage things. This news brought some encouragement to them, and they, like their mother, left it in Mr. Gardiner's able hands.

If there was one consolation the younger sisters had, it was that now they had a reason and permission to again visit their aunt Phillip's, and so Meryton. While they rejoiced at the change of scene and company, it was not without disappointment. The loss of the regiment had ceased much of the doings of the town, and their new frugality limited what little entertainments there were left. There were many days when the most they could do was entertain their cousins. Jane had always been the favourite of the children, with her sweetness of temper and good sense, while Catherine and Lydia had been far too disinterested, and Mary too absorbed, to bother with them.

After such depravation, though, the prospect of engaging anyone, even their young cousins, proved inviting, and the very real shock of their situation made diversion of the sort much preferable to remaining at home.

Elizabeth observed all this with the absent thought that perhaps, given time and proper time away from the objects of their distractions, they might regain their more natural degree of sense. But she could not rejoice in its cause, and though she did occasionally attend to the children for politeness, it was with her father that she spent most of her time. With the weight of affairs taken by others, she was now free to spend long hours with him, even if he was not always conscious or able to do more than acknowledge her presence.

One day, as she put away the book she had been reading aloud, he reached out and placed a cold hand on hers, squeezing it softly.

"My dear," he whispered, forcing the words out, "do please, take the books. _You_ surely will enjoy them best."

Elizabeth had only thought to force a smile, kiss his hand, and rush to her room before giving way to tears. It was the first time either had acknowledged aloud what each believed would soon occur.

Mrs. Gardiner, dividing her time between Meryton and Longbourn, and rightly believing that it was on her eldest nieces the brunt of the crisis had fallen, took pains to draw them out in conversation and walks. It was during such a stroll, without Jane, that Elizabeth finally unburdened herself of all that she had learned in regards to Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy, though she kept her speculations to herself. With much wonder did her aunt listen, and exclaim.

"We wondered, when you wrote from Kent, at the means of your conveyance. But is it really so certain?"

"Yes, there can be no doubt of it. I am sure if you will ask my aunt Phillips or anyone else within a broad range they will speak the same, and worse. It is a reprehensible subject, one I wish could be soon forgotten."

"But for Mr. Darcy to be so kind!" Mrs. Gardiner cried.

"Oh, I am no longer quite as amazed as I was. He is of such an excellent character, by all accounts, and he made it clear that it was no consequence to him whether he took the one coach or any others I am sure he could procure."

"I do recall that his father was an excellent man, and well spoken of in Lambton."

Her words brought a brief cry from Elizabeth, for the mention of it brought forth a recollection she had put aside until now. "Oh, our trip to the lakes! You and my uncle Gardiner will miss it completely now."

Her companion only shook her head. "We could never have abandoned you girls. It is not certain we should even have been able to go, had events transpired differently, since there was some talk of business that would have shortened the trip to the point of impossibility. We might only have been able to go as far as Derbyshire, and so there is no great loss."

Derbyshire was a place now filled with variable and troublesome meanings for Elizabeth, and she did not comment on her aunt's admission. Mrs. Gardiner noticed the absence, but refrained from prying further. To her mind, a gentleman of Mr. Darcy's standing had perhaps but one reason for his actions in regards to her niece, but to imply so at such a time would not be welcomed or seemly. Instead, she inquired as to the sights Elizabeth had seen during her visit, and so filled their time with talk of gardens until they returned home.

It is not the intention of this narrative to provide a lengthy description of disease or malady; there are much better authorities on the subject who can be consulted. It is enough to know that the doctor from London had been quite correct in his final prognosis, and that the day finally came when Mr. Bennet was discovered in a fit of coughing so dreadful that he could not draw breath. The apothecary was immediately sought, more as a formality than a true belief in recovery.

The man came speedily, in spite of the gross inadequacy of his skills to the case, and did at least settle his patient to a restive, if not healthy, state. He advised Mrs. Bennet and her daughters to each visit and say what they wished, for there could not be much time left to do so.

Mrs. Bennet first waited on her husband, and only the two of them may know quite what occurred in this, their last quarrel. However, it did not sound at all from the outside as their usual talk did, for there were no raised voices, and a patient listener might have heard both tears and laughter.

The rest went in one at a time, even Lydia, who at the last displayed a much better temperament than any of them could have imagined, and brought a smile to Mr. Bennet's face as announced that she wished he could have been well, and they all have gone to Brighton and seen the officers, but perhaps it was as well they had not, and she was sure she could learn to be much better now without them.

It was mostly bravado, and more a desire to _sound_ pleasing than actually be it, but as a parting gift to her father, she could not have done better than such a droll display. He nodded, spoke a few words, and they took their leave of each other on better terms than they had done in perhaps the whole of their acquaintance.

When Elizabeth at last entered, Mr. Bennett looked quite tired, and she immediately thought to take a damp cloth to his forehead. He waved her off though. "No, the time is past for that, my dear Lizzy."

She took the chair by his bed, grasping his hand and gazing at him with all the affection she had always felt for him, even with his faults.

"You have never spoken much of Kent." She did not catch the words at first, strange as they were, but then started, both from his reference and her thoughts just before.

"Oh, there was not so much to tell, beyond the silliness of Mr. Collins and the wealth of his patroness, and I am sure you have seen both sorts before."

Mr. Bennet sighed, keeping his cough at bay that he might finish this important interview. "Ah, but what of the high tone of the lady and her nephew? Could you not spare some wit on that?" Not waiting her reply, he continued, earnestly, despite the pain it caused him. "No, I think not. You are quite careful in your speech now, and I am glad, for it is something I ought to have better shown and taught, but indulged you as much as myself. Whatever has taught you this, I am grateful, for it will make the transition far easier for you than might otherwise have been."

"Oh, papa!" Elizabeth cried, overcome despite herself. "You have been the best of fathers to me."

"To you, I suppose. And, to my shame, it is for you I most worry." Here he broke off, and could not continue for some time, but at last he rallied. He took her hands firmly, and brought her close, that she might hear him. "As I told Jane, I have no doubt she will marry well, and be happy. Some good man will see her beauty and overlook her poverty, and she will make herself content. But you, Lizzy, are in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You have a lively and quick mind, and unless you truly esteem your husband, you will meet with the greatest misery. Please, my child, promise me that you will not settle for such a thing."

"You must not worry on _that_ account, please, I am sure we will be taken care of."

He shook his head. "My brother Gardiner is an excellent man; do not imagine you need look farther for care. Or there is your uncle Phillips, and perhaps even Mrs. Collins may require a companion occasionally. But I had rather you depend on those kindnesses, than ever yoke yourself with someone you could not both love and respect. Promise me, Elizabeth, I beg you, and I may feel I have at least fulfilled my duty to you, my own dearest child."

Tears were now impossible to conceal, and Elizabeth's own voice wavered as she said softly "Yes, of course, papa, I promise."

As she spoke the last words, he relaxed, with the appearance of a great weight taken from him, and looked more peaceable than in weeks. "You are – have been, such a woman, little Lizzy no more." His voice drifted, as his thoughts seemed to, and she strained to catch it. "I wish, I wish I could have met him, the worthy fellow. He, he must be – I would have liked it."

Smiling at her, he murmured. "The books, you will remember? Not to be sold. And keep them, remember me, sometimes? It is all I have left to give you."

They spoke a few moments more, his words coming slower and softer, till he only gazed at her with deep affection and contentment, mouthed her name, and closed his eyes. That night he entered a sleep of profound peace, which we on earth may only dream of. His family mourned him well, and were properly complemented by his friends, of whom he collected many more in death than he had in life, as his funeral marked a public occasion during a time when assemblies were of an infrequent and limited nature.

Mrs. Collins fortunately preceded her husband to Hertfordshire, as his presence was absolutely required by Lady Catherine in settling the state of his living. Prudent and sympathetic, Charlotte wisely chose not to encounter Mrs. Bennet at all, but instead met with and comforted her friend at Lucas Lodge or Meryton. There she intimated that by careful counsel on her part, the removal of the Bennet family had been delayed beyond what either her mother or husband had originally planned. He would arrive in a few days' time, but they would remain with the Lucases until Longbourn had been made ready.

Elizabeth quickly expressed her thanks, and they moved on to other, less troubled subjects, one of which was the relation of all that had occurred at Rosings after her departure. Carefully did Elizabeth listen for mention of her letter, but in vain. Mr. Darcy had obviously taken pains to keep the matter private, and so she forbore to mention it.

She had received a brief reply to her own letter shortly after the Gardiners' arrival, which only gave a vague acknowledgement of what she had wrote, coupled with a prayer for her father's recovery. It had not disappointed her, quite, as she had not worked up many hopes for it, but it discouraged her from sending any future addresses. Their acquaintance, such as it was, must now be at an end, and if she was a little troubled by it, it was only as a small afterthought to all else that had occurred.

Jane had received two replies from the Bingleys, one from the sister and one, which surprised Elizabeth, from the brother as well. They were neither of them very long or noteworthy, except by their appearance at all. What they contained, Jane only shared by summary, which was that they were both sorry to hear of her misfortune, could wish they were there to offer comfort, and otherwise expressed warm wishes for the future. Though she was pressed by her mother and other family, Jane would not admit that Mr. Bingley's words were any more than his sister's, or any better appreciated.

Elizabeth closely observed her, and thought Jane displayed a softening of expression when describing the gentleman's words, but did not press her. If Mr. Bingley had the temerity to write, he could as well find the will to defy his friend and family, if he truly wished to. If _he_ did not, then she would not wish it to be so.

They were to depart after a fortnight with the Gardiners for a short duration at Gracechurch Street, where they would settle the remaining affects of the estate, and decide on a place they could best retire to. That, and not any false suppositions as to the likelihood of a restorative match, should be their chief concern.


	9. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

"Look at the cards!" cried Kitty as the Bennets and Mr. Gardiner returned to his residence from a lengthy visit to the lawyer handling the estate. They had been in town but half a week, and already she and Lydia were delighted with the prospect of seeing and being seen, despite the lack of opportunity their current prospects afforded them. They each viewed it as a personal mission to see to the day's visitors, even if it was only a clerk delivering a message from Mr. Gardiner's business, and eagerly sought the cards left whenever they were out.

Her excitement was repeated by various others when she read that Miss Bingley had called in their absence. Mrs. Gardiner, having been at a neighbour's with the children at the time of the visit, could only report what the servants had, which was that a well-dressed lady had arrived in good chaise, inquired after Miss Bennet, and left her card before departing.

"Why, Jane, is this not good news!" her mother exclaimed. "You must return the favour, of course, but not too soon: we must consult your aunt Gardiner, and perhaps find when Mr. Bingley will be at home, that you may see him."

Mrs. Gardiner, unfortunately, could not impart much on that subject either, but dutifully promised to inquire if any of her association knew aught of the Bingley house and its affairs.

"I hope you do not put too much faith in my abilities, Jane," she cautioned in an aside to her two oldest nieces. "It is unlikely that I shall find much to assist you."

"I could wish my dear mother was not so insistent in her plans," was Jane's reply. "I will of course repay the courtesy to Miss Bingley, and if I do call when the gentleman is home, may hope to conduct myself as merely an indifferent acquaintance."

Mrs. Gardiner nodded in approval. "Your modesty becomes you, Jane; only, do not allow it to force a retirement of any preference you still maintain. There is nothing indecorous about desiring further association with a family you already have some history with."

Elizabeth rejoiced at such sensible advice, as plainly spoken and appropriate to her sister's mien as her mother's was not. It would perhaps allow Jane to make a true choice in the matter, rather than be goaded into one out of fear that her family's desires were too forward or assuming.

She did not say so that night, for they now shared a room with Mary, and so were abbreviated in their nocturnal councils. Yet did she manage to speak in favour of her aunt's words, provoking in Jane a soft smile of peace that had been much lacking since the start of their troubles.

There were several available properties for let that might fit their budgets. Mr. Gardiner mostly went through them in conference with his sister. Occasionally Jane or Elizabeth were asked their opinions, and even more rarely was one brought before the entire group to debate; thus far none had been found to do, but it was early yet, and there were still some particulars as to the girls' inheritance and the family's debts to go through. There were, therefore, long periods of time with nothing of import to require their attention, and an entire foreign world to be distracted by. They could not merely go about as they had been allowed to in Meryton, and neither their mother nor Mrs. Gardiner were readily available as chaperones, though both endeavoured to fill the role as they had ability to.

Fortunately, an industrious clerk of Mr. Gardiner's, a Mr. Thompson, betrayed a ready eagerness to serve as escort to the Bennet sisters in lieu of his normal duties. He could not help but admire the eldest Miss Bennet for her beauty, or be overwhelmed by the quickness of Miss Elizabeth, but his youth (he had just reached the age of two-and-twenty) and inexperience prevented him from straying too near in those directions. Miss Mary he found an odd but amiable conversationalist, for having spent a year at a small seminary before being forced by his family's meagre circumstances to abandon that pursuit in favour of trade, he felt himself so much a similar expert on threadbare morality that the two often found much to discuss. The younger two he thought rather silly but friendly girls, and as such was the perfect guardian for them: eager to defend but immune to their charms.

It was thus on a bright midmorning about six days after their arrival that Mr. Thompson found himself accompanying Elizabeth, Mary, and a parcel of books to a reputable seller of the same commodity. The collection Mr. Bennet had bequeathed his daughter proved to be quite large, far too much so for a young lady not as prone to long hours of reading as her father and quite sensible as to the inability of their current situation to accommodate such a library. She had brought the entire collection with them (at an expense her mother loudly complained of several times) in the belief that whatever trimming it needed could be done more profitably there than in the country. Her sisters and relatives had been advised to go through and take whatever they wished. Mr. Gardiner claiming a set of dictionaries, Mrs. Gardiner a volume of verse, Jane a copy of their father's favourite collection of sketches, Mary several religious and philosophical treatises not in her own possession, and in a surprise to them all, Mrs. Bennet took the Almanac from the year 1790 with no explanation at all.

After culling a generous helping of what she wanted and most cherished as remembrances of her father, Elizabeth resolutely designated the rest as salable.

Mr. Gardiner had recommended a bookseller of limited acquaintance as both approachable and honest, and so she had journeyed to this establishment for the purposes of disposing with the last of Mr. Bennet's possessions. Mary asked to come as well, for she could not quite have her fill of bookshops yet, and while Elizabeth sought the proprietor, she and Mr. Thompson trailed toward the shelves displaying the newest selection of published sermons, arguing whether such works were an example of lending within the temple or paying the worker worthy of his hire.

The young boy at the front informed her that an important customer was being waited on, and she would have to wait to speak to his superior. The delay was not to Elizabeth's liking, who wished to be done with the unpleasant business as quickly as possible, but she held her tongue and idly picked up one of the discarded books to be sold. It was one of her many regrets, a leather-bound work she could recall listening to her father read and sharing in reading with him as she grew. There were others she had kept with similar memories, though, and it was in good enough condition to fetch a high price, a detail she scrupled to consider in her choices.

"I believe that is a very excellent first edition."

The words did not startle her so much as their author, and her attention came up suddenly to meet the familiar visage of Mr. Darcy. But a moment's pause did she take to gather herself, before responding. "Really, sir? If that be the case, I must consider a higher asking price than I originally intended for it. My thanks, Mr. Darcy."

The gentleman smiled and nodded his greeting. "Of course, Miss Bennett."

The bookseller, seeing that the young lady awaiting him was an acquaintance of one of his most valued patrons, began to utter apologies at his tardiness, explaining that only service to the worthy Mr. Darcy had delayed him in responding to her needs. "How may I help you, ma'am?" he cried.

Elizabeth quickly explained the nature of her visit, all the while aware of the fixed gaze of Mr. Darcy as she spoke. He was dressed as splendidly as ever, with all the bearing and appearance of her experience, but it did not seem nearly as unbecoming as she had once considered it. Rather, he looked now a man who knew his place in the world and scrupulously attempted to maintain it.

The bookseller eagerly began going through the volumes with his boy, forcing Elizabeth back into conversation with the waiting Mr. Darcy. He prevented her having to decide on a thread of conversation by taking it upon himself to begin.

"It is a good collection. Do you mean to part with them all?"

"I am afraid so, sir. My father's reading preferences were more varied than was perhaps practical, and now that he has departed it is entirely inappropriate to keep the entire library."

His expression altered at her delicate reference to something that was, if not quite open concern, a reserved approximation of that sentiment. "My condolences, Miss Bennet; the announcement appeared but last week in the papers. I trust your family is well?"

"Yes sir, I thank you; we have ended our time of grieving, and are looking toward the future."

Mr. Darcy paused in his response, glancing at the parcel of books before continuing. "Will your tenure in town be long, then, or do your return to Hertfordshire soon?"

Elizabeth laughed quietly, and shook her head. "We are not sure but Hertfordshire will be almost completely closed to us soon." At his blank look, she explained. "My father's estate was entailed, and seeing that my sisters and I are guilty of not being male, our cousin Mr. Collins has inherited Longbourn."

"I see. I had heard he was leaving Hunsford, but was not aware of the details involved."

"We are only in town to conclude the estate, and then I imagine we will soon find some distant place that is easy to keep and let." Elizabeth forwarded the information she felt he was too polite to inquire about, but must be curious to.

"And is there not room or ability for your cousin to accommodate your family?"

"He has been quite tolerant in allowing us to slowly leave the place, but it would not do to say. Too many ladies in too little a space would try the patience of anyone, and I have no wish to see Mrs. Collins forced to accommodate another's wishes now that she is finally mistress of her own home."

"I understand."

He spoke politely but cooly, in a manner that might be interpreted as offended or brusque. His nearly indelicate question regarding Mr. Collins felt quite condescending, yet Elizabeth suspected a deeper emotion beneath it than merely indifferent officiousness. To a man who had done for a near relation what she sincerely believed he had, the dismissal another gave to his female cousins must seem cruel. It was not to be supposed that Mr. Darcy could ever rightly understand how the other's lack might make him less generous than himself, and so perhaps he understood to the best his fortune and nature could allow.

This uncertainty in her reaction to him quite defied Elizabeth's expectations or experience. She had believed she would greet him with a better understanding and regard than when they had last parted. The degree of that regard, though, and the height of disconcertment she felt at their discussion, were of an uneven and contradictory expression. There was nothing in what they had discussed that _should_ cause either of them any great pains, save perhaps the still lingering sorrow at the passing of her father; and yet not only did she experience an upwelling of nervous agitation, but she felt an uncanny suspicion that her companion's state mirrored her own. It was not pleasant, but not exactly awful either, which disturbed her more than the feeling itself.

Presently Mr. Darcy took up one of the volumes set aside by the bookseller and studied it. "Might I take the liberty of perusing these? I had come to select some new stock for my own library, and had not found what I was seeking."

"Of course!" Elizabeth breathed her consent, and watched as he selected first one, and then another, until nearly the whole of them were at last purchased by the gentleman for what she was sure was a very generous sum. He gave brief directions for their delivery, which the bookseller and his boy immediately set to arranging.

"You seemed determined, Mr. Darcy, to continually place me in your debt," Elizabeth said smilingly. "I was not sure I would be able to manage this enterprise at all, and now am far better off than had I been successful; and I have not even begun to properly thank you for the use of your coach."

"There is nothing owed, I assure you. I instead am thankful to have found such a fine addition to Pemberly's wealth–" he had begun in a tone of sedate but firm reassurance, then suddenly stopped in slight alarm, most bewildering to her, and finished quickly with– "and pray you rest your mind on the subject." His mind, to judge by his appearance and speech, did not seem rested on the subject at all.

It was at this point that the erstwhile Mr. Thompson remembered his other charge, and returned to discover her in deep conversation with a very fine gentleman. Introductions were made, and Mr. Darcy again expressed his regrets to Mary, who took them with constrained reverence. After dispensing with these pleasantries, the clerk reminded Elizabeth that they must soon meet with her uncle for luncheon. Mr. Darcy inquired as to where they were taking the meal, and upon learning its name, mentioned that he often enjoyed a private room at the establishment that they might avail themselves of.

Before Elizabeth was quite aware of how it had occurred, she, Mary, and Mr. Thompson had joined Mr. Darcy in his carriage with her business well completed and an addition to their lunch party. The disturbance of her spirits which had begun in the bookstore was not settled at all by this turn of events, and she was most acutely aware that this was her second journey within the Darcy livery. Perhaps her nerves might have been more settled if she had not been struck, throughout their deceivingly light conversation, by the keenness of the gentleman's eyes when turned, as they often were, in her direction.


	10. Chapter 42

**Author's Note**: Thank you all for continued attention to this story and patience with my ability to update. The next chapter will hopefully be up either tonight or tomorrow morning, after which it may take me some time to update again. Again, thank you for your readership, and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 42**

As a man of both business and gentle society, Mr. Gardiner dealt with many different personages in his daily interactions. Living as he did in the middle of such a great city, he was rarely surprised by anything. It was therefore a very singular circumstance that occurred when he met not only his nieces and clerk for luncheon, but a very fashionable man of property: he was struck dumb from the moment of their introductions till they had taken their seats in the gentleman's specific room.

He soon overcame his shock, though, and set to repeating thanks to the man for his kindnesses in an elegant manner that quite soothed Elizabeth's tangled nerves. At least they had met with a relative she could delight in Mr. Darcy's making the acquaintance of, and she saw with sincere appreciation the two men interact in a manner, if not of easy familiarity, at least of polite discourse.

"Yes, sir, I am familiar with the area." Mr. Gardiner remarked as their guest explained his circumstances. "The town of Lambton, I believe, is but a short distance from your estate, and it is at such a place that my wife passed her girlhood. She has often spoken of the place with such fondness, that we had nearly planned to visit there recently."

"Indeed, it is visited frequently, as it is a pleasant countryside no matter the season."

"I am sure, from my wife's account, this must be so."

"It is regrettable that you were delayed in your journey."

Elizabeth coloured at this reference, something Mr. Gardiner noted with sympathy, and so agreed with Mr. Darcy in a similar but brief sentiment. That topic of conversation now quite exhausted, the meal threatened to devolve into silence. Mr. Darcy sat in his habitual reserve as Mr. Gardiner struggled for a subject that might satisfy the occasion without offending any of the party, and Mr. Thompson and Mary each considered and dismissed asides that were either too common or gross for their audience.

Feeling the requirements of their acquaintance, Elizabeth endeavoured to check her unease by offering Mr. Darcy some comfortable topic of discussion. "I hope, Mr. Darcy, that we are not keeping you from your family. Do you have the pleasure of their company at this time?"

His looks became decidedly more open as he quickly answered that he was not delayed at all by this engagement. "I am not expected to meet with my sister until later this evening."

"How fortunate," Mr. Gardiner took up the thread. "Else we should have quite missed this opportunity of meeting. Pray, Mr. Darcy, what amusements does your sister follow? As a man suddenly overwhelmed by five young ladies, I am in a sorry state to recommend the city to them properly."

This subject proved sufficient for all concerned, and as Elizabeth listened to the conversation, occasionally contributing herself, she felt a great joy to have afforded Darcy a comfortable means of engaging the others. Watching his animation in describing his sister and her delights, she decided that his _hauteur_ before others must be a front to his true self. Here, as she had briefly seen at Kent, was a far different man than the one she had first perceived. His manners, perhaps, still wanted some degree of humility, but their warmth could not be questioned, and she found that in tactfully helping his addresses, she felt a real sense of accomplishment at the ease with which the gentleman and her uncle conversed.

"Oh, do you mean a true concert, sir?" Mary entered the conversation hesitantly at the mention of an entertainment Miss Darcy meant to attend soon. "Who will be the soloist?" The answer caused a flush of excitement in the female listeners. "Oh, Lizzy, will Mama consent that we go?" Mary asked eagerly, nearly forgetting the other persons beside them.

The outburst was at least one of good spirits and not insensibility, and so Elizabeth only smiled in shared joy. "If allowance were all that stood in the way, I believe our joy were certain. But such an occasion must be difficult to obtain entrance to."

"Perhaps," Mr. Gardiner admitted, "but not so very difficult as to be impossible. If Mr. Darcy would be good enough to direct me to the correct authority, I am sure something might be arranged."

"Certainly."

The information was passed on, and the conversation continued in high humour until it was time for Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Thompson to return to their duties. As they prepared to go, Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy speak quietly with her uncle for a short space of time, after which her uncle approached her with a look of suppressed curiosity. "Mr. Darcy has asked that he speak with you a few moments privately, Lizzy, and if it is your desire, I am sure we can quite spare it. Shall we wait for you at the door?"

Curious herself, she nodded, and was soon left alone with the gentleman. Refusing to feel anxious in the situation, she smiled and cried, "Well, Mr. Darcy, I am not sure what recompense you are to ask now, that you must do so alone, but I will be quite disappointed if it is not terrible."

He smiled broadly, asking, "And do you then cast yourself as needing rescuing?"

"Indeed not sir, unless you mean to play the dragon. But as I am so well acquainted with you now, I confess your teeth will not frighten me. They are far too familiar."

"I can not imagine a situation that should ever overcome your courage," he replied, to which she was saved having to answer as he continued. "I only ask a small kindness, that I might have the pleasure of introducing my sister to you."

"Of course, sir, it would be my privilege to comply. Should we be so fortunate as to attend this concert, I would be most happy to meet Miss Darcy."

Here some measure of Darcy's good will left him, and Elizabeth wondered what she might have said to cause offence. "My sister," he began, "is of a shy disposition, and not well suited to meeting with many—people, in such a setting." His hesitation struck her forcibly, stealing some of her ease as well, as she could readily comprehend that while _her_ companionship was desired, her family's was not.

She paused, considering, and finally said, "I am sure, if Miss Darcy will be so good as to offer an invitation, I would be quite able to attend her, provided my sister Jane or aunt Gardiner may accompany me." They, of all her possible attendants, were the least likely to give offence, and she waited in some degree of suspense as to what his answer would be.

"Of course," he nodded, all civility again. "You may expect an invitation upon the morrow, or the next at the latest."

Elizabeth's feelings were quite confused now, as she could not easily allow for the slight being practised on her family, nor the high-handed way in which she had been made accomplice. Her gratitude and better feelings toward the gentleman encouraged her to say more, but she now wondered what that should be. She at last decided on brevity and closure. "I must now return with my uncle, sir, and shall look to Miss Darcy's communication."

"Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. May I escort you down?"

She answered in the affirmative, and they soon rejoined her relations, who managed to contain their questions until after Mr. Darcy had departed. Their journey back was not so subdued, though it was nothing in comparison to the reaction of Mrs. Bennet that evening. Elizabeth responded to her speculations with slight smiles and quiet demurs.

"Jane, you must lend Lizzy your better bonnet," their mother cried, for the first time placing her second eldest higher in her attention than her other daughters.

"Of course, mama."

Elizabeth was caught by the pensiveness of her sister's tone, and brought to pains by a sudden thought of her sister's condition. In her earlier challenge to Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth had forgotten the nature of Miss Bingley's last tidings in regards to her hopes for her brother and the young mistress of Pemberley. One look at Jane's downcast eyes during the evening's talk at an unguarded moment showed her remembrance, though, and caused Elizabeth to repent ever offering her sister's name.

Jane's attempt at visiting the Bingleys had been thwarted by the family's absence from their house, apparently on a long visit to northern relatives. The event had provoked their mother into an ill humour, which only recovered at the unlooked-for attentions to another of her daughters. Jane's own humour, though still pleasant, had not seen so complete a recovery, and Elizabeth now fervently hoped the invitation would be nameless, or at least that Mr. Darcy's sense of decorum and propriety would require the elder lady be named.

Mrs. Gardiner herself remained very quiet on the subject, and only addressed her niece discretely before they retired. "Elizabeth, I will not attempt to tell you your own mind, as you are quiet sensible and know yourself well. Only do not ever fear to seek council or assistance from your uncle or myself if you wish it."

"Oh, my dear aunt Gardiner, what should we do without you?" Elizabeth cried, laughing. "I thank you, but am quite too tired to consider the subject further."

Despite her words, that night Elizabeth lay awake long after her sisters, endeavouring to make out what she felt toward the gentleman of Derbyshire. She certainly did not hate him, which had vanished nearly as long as dislike. Respect of his valuable qualities and gratitude for his attention were certainly part of her association with him now, and she had almost persuaded herself that there existed an even friendlier sense of understanding while his disposition appeared in so amiable a light as at luncheon. Where their two selves only were concerned, though, she had again borne the brunt of his disapprobation and pride toward those he seemed to consider beneath his notice. His dismissal of Mr. Collins had only been impolite, but his attitude towards her closer relations was another matter, especially as his own strict views on the subject seemed ill-satisfied by his conduct toward them.

Could she continue an acquaintance, however cordial toward herself, that must mean the scorn of her own family, now even dearer with the loss of her father? And _would_ her father have approved such attentions?

These doubts continued to disturb her rest for some time into the night, but she found no answers on rising the next morning, save that the duly promised invitation arrived quite on time, addressed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner, asking for their kindness to attend Miss Darcy at tea the following day. An affirmative reply was sent posthaste, and accordingly, the following day saw the two ladies approach the Darcy townhouse in mixed states of nervousness and expectation.


	11. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43**

In preparing for her visit, Elizabeth considered everything she knew about her hostess, Miss Darcy. As Mr. Wickham's accounts were now completely untrustworthy, she turned instead to those of Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy, even attempting to recall the raptures Miss Bingley had indulged in at Netherfield. From all accounts save one, the young lady was a dutiful sister, a devoted musician, and very accomplished. The multitude of these praises was quite formidable, and as she and Mrs. Gardiner were led to the sitting room, Elizabeth felt a strong desire to shew herself worthy of whatever praises may have been given her, but quite unprepared to do so.

The room was charming, with a decor both rich and tasteful, and at its heart stood the much lauded Georgiana Darcy. She was quite tall, and of a graceful, womanly figure, but only accompanied by the lady with whom she lived in town. Her brother, to Elizabeth's surprise and small relief, was not present, and his absence soon explained due to the necessity of performing some business in his study; he would join them once it was completed.

Miss Darcy greeted them civilly, although in a low voice and short manner that might have prompted Elizabeth's sensibilities, had she not formed a resolve to be charitable, if not due to the lady's own merits, at least in gratitude to her brother's. To that end, she answered the greeting with warmth, echoed by her aunt, and once they were all seated, a short pause existed as the tea things were exchanged.

Elizabeth looked upon her hostess carefully, and thought she observed in the downcast of her expression and short smile a person at least as nervous as herself, encouraging her to find some way to draw the young lady into conversation.

"It is a great pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Darcy," she began, attempting to use the same methods as had worked on the lady's brother to encourage her. "I have heard such good reports of you, as made me quite fearful of the meeting; but I am most glad to see that the table arrangement is not quite centred, as I would have then been certain of your perfection and my lack."

She had expected to find as acute and unembarrassed conversationalist as ever Mr. Darcy had been. With astonishment did she instead see alarm fill Georgiana's features, and a short monosyllabic apology to her guests. Quickly did Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner attempt to assure her of their satisfaction with the arrangement, and Mrs. Annesley, a genteel, agreeable-looking woman, quickly turned the conversation to a subject always prone to excite her charge's interest, music.

The topic proved successful, and between herself and Mrs. Gardiner, with occasional help from Elizabeth, the conversation carried on. Miss Darcy was gradually encouraged to enter a few short sentences, which all proved to her young guest that rather than excessively proud, the lady was beset by an exceeding shyness. This knowledge helped alter her tone of speech, and she managed to eventually coax a smile from their hostess with a polite, unaffected mention of Mr. Darcy's admiration of his sister's talent.

No sooner had the man been mentioned than he arrived, and further introductions were made. Mrs. Gardiner at once spoke in admiration of her childhood home of Derbyshire, which provided a steady means of unencumbered discourse, since Elizabeth could make many inquires of this unknown territory, and both brother and sister were so fond of their home as to answer all of them without hesitation. More than once did Elizabeth feel her aunt's gaze rest on herself and the gentleman, but she determined to be perfectly easy and unembarrassed as she described, in response to a question from Miss Darcy, some of the delights she had discovered while visiting Rosings Park.

The mention of that place caused Mr. Darcy to grow more withdrawn, and Elizabeth now felt his scrutiny as acutely as all others in the room. There seemed a ready suspicion of something about the room, which she did not care to name, and so she kept to the subject of conversation with only thought to be as pleasing and friendly as possible. Her success was perhaps predestined, for Georgiana was eager to encourage someone who had not only merited such high praise from her brother, but was also so open and amiable a companion. For his part, Mr. Darcy had been quite certain of his sister's care in the company of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and was now filled anew with admiration for a performance beyond what he had hoped.

Soon the tea was put away, and an invitation extended for the guests to take a tour of the house. Mrs. Gardiner expressed a great interest in seeing it, and as Elizabeth had no objections, the party set out. While her brother took a commanding role, Miss Darcy, at the urging of both Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth, was drawn to speak as well, and they passed from one room to another in congenial companionship.

Though interested in all there was to see, Mrs. Gardiner eventually expressed fatigue. Elizabeth offered to leave, but her aunt insisted she continue without her, as Miss Darcy was quite willing to accompany her back to the sitting room.

"I do hope you will not mind my abandoning you, Lizzy," she murmured. "But do continue, please, and tell me all about it after you join me."

There was no art to Mrs. Gardiner's words, but Elizabeth felt a situation so exposed that she nearly begged her aunt to remain. Feeling foolish for her anxiety, though, she soon agreed and set to enjoying what remained of the tour. Darcy spoke warmly of the house, and she responded in kind, so that there was no change in their manner from when they had been a party of four. At last they came to a small alcove at the end of a hall, which displayed some portraits in contrast to those of the main parlour.

One particularly caught Elizabeth's eye, well-placed as it was in the light from a small window, of a very handsome young woman she thought bore some resemblance to Miss Darcy. "Pray, sir, may I take the liberty of inquiring who the likeness is?"

"It is my mother, in her youth."

The admission was the most private, not withstanding his vague letter, that had passed between them, and Elizabeth now realized how little she truly knew about him and his family. As she returned to studying the picture with renewed interest, she was aware of a deep curiosity to know more, to ask how he felt about certain subjects, and to discover what it was that made him now such a deep and fascinating subject. If she had never thought so before, she now knew that she could very well feel an attraction towards the gentleman, if she allowed it.

These troubled thoughts quite absorbed her, so that she did not even think of Darcy's presence until his words drew her notice back to him abruptly.

"Miss Elizabeth, please excuse the directness of my address, but I must be allowed to speak to you. I have struggled these many weeks to repress my feelings, or to find some means of properly applying their attentions, but in vain. It will not do."

He paused, gazing upon her in a manner she was painfully aware of. "You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

The words themselves brought high colour and a severe agitation to Elizabeth, but the sentiments they expressed could no longer be considered a complete surprise. In vain had she attempted to catalogue his feelings as mere nobility of character, and then as that of an attentive friend. Everything, from his offer of the carriage, the tumult of his feelings at the time, the attention of his letter and later addresses, spoke of an admiration she had long begun to feel, if not acknowledge. Now, though, came the decision she had been dreading since their meeting three days ago, and the confusion of her own feelings threatened to chase reason completely from her grasp.

"I quite understand your hesitation," he continued, after waiting a few moments for a response. "It is a circumstance not at all to be expected, either by my family or your own. I do not lightly brush these concerns away, and have studied them in the hopes of abating my ardour. You can not imagine, you do not know how close I was at Hunsford to forming just such an address, and only the nature of your father's health was of a cause sufficient to check my intentions. I thought it a godsend, to allow me time to overcome such a complete frustration of all the hopes applied to my future, but have been unable to refrain from thinking on you, wondering at your condition, and wishing to be more at your side during your time of trouble than ever before. I ought to have returned to Pemberley by now; instead I have delayed, weeks even, hoping to find some means of meeting you again. These last three days have shown me I am completely unable to resolve this matter except in extending my desire that you would, in spite of the certain censure that must result, accept my hand in marriage."

The nature of his words was enough to deliver Elizabeth from speechlessness. She was at once elated, depressed, honoured, and mortified. That he could excite her to feel a degree of kinship and admiration heretofore reserved to perhaps Jane and her father, and just as soon produce a great anger at his incivility toward herself, her family, and especially her own father's memory, was such a contrast that she was in greater despair of finding an answer to his addresses than before. However, this state did not prevent her forming a reply to his tone; instead, it tempered her to combine truth and civility as far as she could.

"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. I do so now, fully, both for your many kindnesses and for this particular condescension. However, it is clear that it _is_ condescension on your part, in all senses of the word. Though you have given much to gratify myself, I can not be insensible to the manner in which you have spoken of my only remaining family, who are dear despite their many faults, as I am sure you hold yours in equal esteem. I have no wish to occasion pain to anyone, least of all yourself. I must therefore beg leave to consider your proposal before trusting myself with an appropriate answer."

Mr. Darcy, who had stepped forward eagerly on hearing her first soft words, seemed to catch them with a look of bemusement that grew as she spoke. He mistrusted, paled, and coloured. Elizabeth steadfastly kept her eyes fixed on him, with all the presence of mind she could draw on, but felt a distinct sympathy for him as he confusedly walked to the small window, looked at her, and back out. He had all the appearance of a young man caught in a state of complete bewilderment, which was so complementary to her own feelings that she could not be unaffected. She kept her peace, though, waiting for him to speak, and wondering whether she would see the warm nature she knew now to exist within him, or the cold reserve he used so well.

He at last turned back to her, composed and calm in expression, if not completely in manner. "And this, then, is your one reservation? The one thing you wish resolved?"

"You mistake me, sir, if you believe there is but one action that can be taken on either of our parts that would then assure the fulfilment of all I am sure you hope for. Please, sir, do not press me further, I must have leave to consider whether I may accept or not."

"If you wish to discuss the terms," he challenged, a coldness seeping into his manner, "I am sure that can be arranged as soon as you wish."

"The terms?" Elizabeth responded with equal fervour, annoyed both by his unbending resolve and her own irresolution. "I have no wish to discuss terms before acceptance, something you forget you still lack. You are quite mistaken if you think that I can be compelled to disregard your carelessness with only the cold comfort of property or wealth to guide me."

Her temerity nearly gave way to shame, and she struggled to find the necessary words to express herself. "The qualities that most affect me are not to be found in such attainments. Were I to accept you, it would be for your deep honour, generous nature, and kindly way I know you to possess, despite your appearance to the contrary at times. It is your attempt to hide such a spirit that troubles me most, for I can not discover its motive or reason, and is the one thing I can have no respect for in anyone, let alone someone as genteel and good as yourself."

Her courage used to its full, she vacated the room quickly, not daring to look up into the eyes of someone who, despite all her brave words, could in fact offer through his position the security her family most dearly needed. Upon reaching the hall she forced herself to breath deeply, refusing the tears that threatened to fall, and attempted to wait for her host with the very reserve she had so recently abused.

She had not long to wait, and he rejoined her after some moments' time. His manner, though, was in complete contrast to before. It held no longer any feeling of coldness, nor even bemusement, nor of that earnest attention which had struck so forcibly in its feeling. What was left was a complete absence of self-consequence such as she had never seen, an openness marked for its quiet contemplation. He looked unsure of his beginning, but at last said in a forthright, unaffected tone,

"I apologize if I have been unkind or insensitive in the manner of my address. You are of course correct to deliberate before answering, and must excuse my disinclination to only the basest of reasons. Were a man not to extend the same courtesy to my sister, I would immediately dismiss his suit and never accept him."

He paused, turning and walking a pace away. "As for what else has passed between us, I do not know quite how to answer you. Certainly I believe I have a just case to protect my holdings, my family, and all who look to me in my choice of association. Honour and duty require it. Yet—" here he turned back, looking upon her as if seeing her for the first time. His words were soft, almost wistful. "That is not why you have challenged me, and I find, I can offer no true defence. I can not deny that I have long admired in you a trait I lack, a gracious, lively spirit of expression. I respect, revere, and even covet, but have made no attempt to imitate, even now, when I was most desperate to impress. Others have mentioned this deficiency, some have chided, and many have dismissed it as perfectly acceptable; but none have ever asked me _why_. And I find, in the asking, that I have no answer that can satisfy your just demands."

They were quite close now, as his words had prompted her forward to hear him, and he had likewise returned to stand before her; closer, perhaps, than propriety should allow, and not conducive toward discouraging either person's attention from the other.

"I can make no other suit, offer you nothing more, than to sincerely seek that answer."

In their small exchange of glances, in his searching, open look of quiet promise, Elizabeth knew her heart decided. Her father had demanded she both esteem and love her husband. This man did not yet command her full respect, nor her complete inclination, but the rare bearing of his heart gave her the belief that together, they could achieve both.

Without quite thinking through her actions, she took his hands in hers and forced herself to smile bravely. "May I then be allowed to start my reply anew, Mr. Darcy? I am most honoured, and do humbly accept your hand, nay, your entire personage, and property, and family, and whatever else you may be."

His attention had become fixed as she took his hands, and as she spoke he gazed with a return of that sharp attention which softened into mirth at her closing, producing a rich laughter that she joined as he brought her hand to his lips. "I do not think you quite understand _all_ you have just proclaimed yourself ready for," he stated in an almost jesting way, which provoked another peal of laughter from his companion.

"No doubt I do not, and will need much instruction on the matter. But it is only fair to warn that you are perhaps not prepared for what _you_ have asked, either." A slight touch of alarm in his eyes, coupled with a twitch of his mouth in suppressed humour, increased hers, and she took his arm gaily. "But really, we must first return to my dear aunt, so I may tell her of all the wonders that your house entails. I suppose I will have to proclaim its master the finest adornment."

"Only saving its future mistress," was his response, and so they returned together.


	12. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

"My dear Lizzy, how did you enjoy the rest?" was the question Elizabeth received upon rejoining Mrs. Gardiner, and at first she was quite unable to deliver a response. At last she prevailed to pronounced that all was perfectly charming. If both she and Mr. Darcy coloured slightly at her description, the others were too polite to make notice of it. Instead, Mrs. Gardiner set to praising the attentions of her hostess, who was just as delighted with her companion. Their unknown approval caused their relations great pleasure, and the remainder of the visit passed in good humour on all sides.

"Well, Lizzy, I am very pleased to have finally made Mr. Darcy's acquaintance," said Mrs. Gardiner as they rode back. "He seems a very stately, removed man, but his conversation and behaviour were more than civil, especially when speaking of Derbyshire. It was nearly as well as visiting the place itself."

Elizabeth could not help but agree, but was at a loss as to how to reply further. She longed to speak to her aunt, but wished more to hear her impartial opinion of the man soon to have such a strong presence in both their lives.

"To be sure, his sister is a beautiful creature," continued Mrs. Gardiner, "though very withdrawn. It is a wonder, really, that two of such wealth and grandeur, and so benevolent in intent, should be so wanting in ease of manner. I can see why you may have found him disagreeable at first, but I would not pronounce him so after this meeting. His conduct toward his sister and ourselves was perfectly correct, if not completely amiable; but to expect one of his position to be as open in countenance as another less set by obligation is perhaps too much to expect."

Words of defence flew to Elizabeth's tongue, but were as quickly swallowed. Her aunt's opinion mirrored her own so closely as to provoke some distress over what had occurred. That she would now marry Mr. Darcy was a fact for which she entertained no doubts or scruples. He was kind, generous, and noble, worthy of admiration, and capable of performing such a necessary service for her family, as made any petty misgivings impossible to hold sway.

Yet in hearing her aunt's closing words, she wondered if perhaps she had read too much in his vow to seek a better conduct. Was it even right that she, of such a meaner situation, compel him to revise a way of life that to most of his sphere was deemed perfectly acceptable? For it was into such a sphere that this union would thrust her, and she nearly shuddered as her thoughts rounded upon themselves in the face of unknown companions and relations of consequence whom she must soon take as her own.

"Is _this_, then, what my father warned me of?" she wondered, reproached by memories of his earnest final entreaties and her own promise. "Could he ever approve of what I do? And oh! what will Jane think of me?"

Such unhappy ruminations threatened to sink any brief joy she thought to have found in her engagement. Just as she was ready to regret ever having accepted the day's invitation, though, she would see again his open countenance, hear his rich laughter, and feel his lips upon her hand, after which she was determined to not only accept, but support and improve him regardless of anyone else's concerns. This anxious tilting of her affections was an unfamiliar state for Elizabeth, and she quickly begged leave upon their arrival to retire until supper.

_________________________________________

It was lucky for Elizabeth that she had been discouraged, both by example and nature, from indulging herself in sorrows or troubles that could be laughed at. Such a system, while not to great advantage in managing an estate or raising a family, was very suitable to her current dilemma. She used her time profitably, acknowledging her changed opinion and feelings toward the man, and building for herself the cause of her acceptance. In reviewing their entire interaction, she felt safe in concluding that neither gratitude nor necessity alone had prompted it. There had been just that much genuine sense of feeling expressed toward her, and which she had in turn felt, that, if it was not the stuff of novels, at least assured her of as much opportunity for happiness as anyone might reasonably hope for in arrangement of such differing positions and tempers. She therefore decided to be content with her choice, and entered supper prepared to defend it with confidence.

The conversation soon turned to the day's outing, and Elizabeth was content to allow Mrs. Gardiner precedence in describe the wonders of the Darcy townhouse. "But Lizzy saw much more than myself, as Mr. Darcy escorted her through the rest of the place," she allowed on further questioning, drawing many looks and murmurs.

As Mrs. Bennet drew breath for comment, Elizabeth knew she could delay no more. "Yes, and I must now inform you all of a further kindness extended."

So she proceeded, succinctly and delicately, to describe the good fortune they might now enjoy. The reaction she received was one of complete silence. Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, unable to utter a syllable, and all others were likewise stunned, leaving Elizabeth to feel very much alone amidst the doubting expressions of her family.

It was, in fact, the young Grace Gardiner who first gave her opinion on the subject by triumphantly clapping her hands and demanding, "Since Susan had a new outfit for Uncle Bennet's funeral, may I have one for cousin Lizzy's wedding?"

Her mother quickly ushered the young girls and boys out before any further demands of self-gratification could be indulged. The outburst itself, however, allowed all others to find their voices, and they were soon raised in a confused excitement of all their thoughts. Her mother's raptures were so vulgar, Elizabeth was quite glad the gentleman discussed was not present to hear her effusions.

"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it! And is it really true? Oh! my sweetest Lizzy! how rich and how great you will be!" Such feelings, coupled with happy speculations on the worth of her future clothes and jewels, occupied her greatly. Her sisters were not to be outdone, as Mary begged that she might be allowed access to her great library, and Kitty and Lydia eagerly set to considering how soon an engagement ball might be planned, "For surely," as Lydia cried, "no one will think ill if we should dance for Lizzy's sake!"

As soon as he could find space to speak, Mr. Gardiner asked if she would accompany him to the study. Readily taking the opportunity to escape the delighted euphoria of her family, Elizabeth was nevertheless pained to note one person who remained very still. Jane's nervous, troubled expression was worse to behold than her mother's triumph, and it was not until the door was shut behind them that she was able to give her full attention to Mr. Gardiner.

He smiled gently, at once putting her more at ease. "I must admit, my dear, that this turn of events does not so completely astound Mrs. Gardiner and myself as it seems to my sister. We had rather wondered what the nature of Mr. Darcy's affections were, and I am very glad to see his honourable reputation sustained in this as in other affairs."

His words provoked a laugh from her, and she answered, "My dear uncle, you must set yourself as an apothecary, for you have given me more comfort than any number of draughts could. I am only sorry I could not be more forthcoming before now and soothe whatever fears you had, for I was quite ignorant of both your feelings and Mr. Darcy's."

"Knowing something of these things, and both your characters, I well believe you Lizzy. Standing in place of your father, though, I must ask whether this is what you truly want. He is not at all the sort of man any of us would have thought to catch your fancy, and by that I do not merely refer to his grand estate. I know at one time you expressed strong objections against him."

"I did, and fear now I was too careless in sharing them. I have learned, rather slowly, that my judgement is not always as impartial or correct as I might wish it, and so have become slower to trust my initial impressions than before. Truly, he is one of the best men I know."

"That may be, and it is a lesson well learned. I will give you my candid opinion Lizzy: I believe Mr. Darcy to be a good man, in all the essentials of character and propriety. As such, I must commend him as worthy to any he would turn his attention. But there is just that touch of something about him as makes me worried for you, who I know and love so well. When we met he was polite, but pointedly so, and there was a degree of carelessness for your feelings that should not be excused, no matter how unintentional or well-meaning. If I had cause to believe your father would have withheld his consent, I would feel compelled to do the same in spite of all the advantages to be had. But in this case I am not sure what his course would be, and so I leave it to you, who bears so much a likeness to him. If you wish to refuse, I will not hesitate to call on Mr. Darcy or anyone else to explain the matter."

Again Elizabeth was forced to face her father's memory, and in her deepest heart, she could not say with certainty that he would have approved. Mr. Gardiner's sketch of character, like his wife's, was in every way true, even ignorant as they were to the reproach and censure of the gentleman's proposal. Were she to reveal all, she knew now that her uncle would very likely advice her not to fulfill her pledge, and even take the responsibility on himself in answering Mr. Darcy's bruised ambitions.

For the barest of moments did she consider such a confession, feeling anew every ill word spoken to her or her family. In the midst of it, though, were the ones that still caused her heart to flutter in their sincerity, "I can make no other suit, offer you nothing more, than to sincerely seek that answer." In giving her that promise, he had withheld nothing, offering instead the greatest compliment a man could bestow, by proving he valued and trusted her. She could never return that trust with deceit, for such it would be if she allowed her uncle to perform this duty.

Raising her eyes, she smiled and said, "I do thank you for your pains, but I am quite decided. My father spoke to me before he died of what he expected, and I can safely promise to always seek to honour his memory. This is not what I would have imagined, certainly, but I believe it is an arrangement I may accept and chose to be happy in."

At her words, Mr. Gardiner offered his sincerest congratulations. "I will seek to meet with him as soon as may be arranged, for I can not quite imagine attempting a conference here, with the entire household about. But know, Lizzy, that we will ever be available to you, no matter what your need may be."

Assuring her uncle that she would always treasure their advice and companionship, Elizabeth left feeling well-satisfied with her conduct and future hopes. However, she dreaded what her next task must be, and forced herself to seek Jane out at once for a private conference. This goal was a difficult one, as she was now the object of everyone's attention, and in rejoining the others, saw that her absence had provoked Mrs. Bennet to accost her eldest on the subject of her own marital state.

"I would never have believed that Lizzy should come before you, Jane, and you ever so much prettier. She has been ever so sly to get the man. Only think, a house in town and ten thousand a year! 'Tis as good as a Lord! But, as I was saying, I would have thought you at least could have tried harder. Why did you not seek Mr. Bingley out earlier? Or write him more? Though really, he is nothing in comparison."

"Mamma," Elizabeth quickly interrupted, drawing two displeased countenances toward herself. "Please, I believe my uncle would speak with you."

"Oh, of course, my dear Lizzy, we must think of the settlement!" Mrs. Bennet rose in great felicity of spirits. "Yes, we must make certain of that, but as he is so rich, I am sure you will always be well. And a special license, you must and shall be married by a special licence." So saying, she left the room in a violence of happiness that quite put the future bride to shame.

By mutual decision, Elizabeth and Jane retired upstairs, leaving their sisters to their own amusements. Once safely within their room, an unhappy silence descended on them, which was made all the more difficult to pierce by the shrill sounds of rejoicing heard clearly beneath them.

"Well, Jane, I must beg you to say something, for soon your looks will have me in tears, and my mother would never forgive us for ruining my looks in such a manner now," said Elizabeth finally.

Miss Bennet at once cried, "Oh my dear, my dear Lizzy! I would—I do congratulate you—but how can you do this, to marry a man I know you are so opposed to, without thought to affection? Please forgive the question, but you are so dear to me, I can not bear to see you do this."

"But there is affection now. I know I did not like him so well before, but you know what generosity he has shown us. I can admire him easily, and will learn to love him better now that I know his feelings."

Jane looked at her doubtingly. "You did not have such a view when Mrs. Collins married, and I can not believe our situation so in danger we must go against our principles to secure it. Oh, did I know you would consider this, I should certainly have called on the Bingleys sooner, or made more effort to seek his attentions! Wretched mistake!"

She could not continue, but turned away in anguish, and Elizabeth now felt all the terrible burden of her new loyalties. That her sister should feel so responsible for what was in no ways her fault, that Jane's hopes must be so dashed in part through the actions of the very one to raise her own, was in all ways reprehensible, and she struggled to find some means of comforting Jane without betraying him she felt a duty toward.

"Do not imagine," cried Elizabeth, "that I sacrifice myself without cause, or give up all hope of happiness. When we spoke, Mr. Darcy promised to examine his conduct and improve it, and I believe him to be sincere. I can love him, and will, for he is a good man and deserving of love. My only sorrow is that I should give such an ill turn to she is most dear to me, my dear Jane, who has ever been my faithful defender. Please, please, say that you may have him as a brother, or I shall be forced to go back on my word."

Her tone, serious and imploring, nearly brought Miss Bennet back to tears. "Of course _I_ may, for I always had a value for him. But," she continued, gaining her composure, "if you truly feel you may be happy, I will be so, for your sake. Only, only Lizzy, do not become too reserved with me. No matter what may occur now or afterwards, promise me you shall always write, and tell me all, even if it is bad. I will not be able to bear it if you do not, and wonder always if you are truly well." Elizabeth promised solemnly, and they spoke of all that had occurred that day with a return to their sisterly bond of free confession.

One point alone gave Elizabeth trouble, and which she would not reveal: that she suspected Mr. Darcy might still be attempting to keep his friend and her sister apart. For while he had dallied in town in hopes of seeing her, the Bingleys had left so soon after the lady leaving her card as gave reasonable evidence that Mr. Bingley could not have known of it, and little imagination was needed to guess who would have been most instrumental in keeping such intelligence close, in hopes of preventing a further attachment.

Still, it was but speculation, and so at odds with how she now thought of Mr. Darcy, that Elizabeth found herself seeking some justification, and feeling a return of her anger at the man who could so easily be ruled by others. She comforted herself that he would surely be present for the wedding, and that as an intimate of the Darcy family, would be regularly in contact with her sister, should that be what Jane desired. Such rationales soothed her conscience, but would not quiet it.


	13. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45**

Mr. Gardiner's consent was delivered as speedily as he had promised, causing even further celebration in his home, and he was required to detail the cut of his host's coat, and the wealth of his parlour, again and again. It was therefore some time before he could seek Elizabeth out and inform her of his improved opinion regarding the man himself.

"It may be simply from the necessity of the situation," he cautioned, "but I was met with such attention that I could not help but enjoy the time spent in his company. I believe I may say that Mr. Darcy improves upon acquaintance."

"Indeed!" Elizabeth breathed. She had been in some agitation during the entirety of her uncle's absence, certain that one or the other's judgement or behaviour would alter the meeting from its hoped-for outcome, and barely allowing herself to desire who should be the successor, feeling pricked by conscience whenever her partiality would stray from either. Her mood had been one of such distraction that not even her mother's gross words or her cousins' playful antics had been able to distract her, and with the matter's successful completion, Elizabeth had rather thought she should be happy than felt herself to be so.

Seeing her looks, Mr. Gardiner quickly assured her of being open to any inquiries she might pose. "I may easily assure you of the gentleman's good health, and his sister's."

"I am glad to hear it," she replied earnestly. "And I am ashamed to admit my silliness, but I must ask, how do you find Mr. Darcy improved?"

"Have no fear that I entertain any new doubts, Lizzy; in his essentials, I believe he is very much what he ever was. It is more that I believe upon further acquaintance, his disposition is perhaps better understood. Certainly I believe your aunt to hold the truth of it, and he is not much at ease with those he does not know. The truth is that he began with great reserve, I barely less so."

Here he paused, and taking on a more serious countenance, said, "I must confess now something that may give you pain, but which I felt myself under obligation to perform: I acquainted Mr. Darcy with some of those reservations I had formed from our previous meeting. I had no intention of withholding my consent, you must believe, but wished to assure him that you were not without some means of concern and security. At first I was afraid I may have offended him, for he was very silent, and so I hastened to add that you had assured me of your satisfaction, which was enough to convince me on the matter. His reaction was a good credit, for he did not rant and storm about his love for you or some such nonsense, as others might be wont to do. Instead he begged forgiveness for any incivility on his part, and we carried the rest of the interview in much better spirits. He is certainly not someone I would ever accuse of being _lively_, but neither is he lacking in deep feeling and warmth; but here perhaps I should cease, for to say more may cause your blush to become more pronounced than it already is."

So saying, he returned to his children, who were boisterously calling for his attention, leaving Elizabeth to ponder this remarkable account. However, her former intensity of concentration was not to resume, for the noise of everyone soon overcame her senses.

She felt an ache for home as she had not in the weeks since their removal, to again be allowed the liberty of wandering the lanes of Longbourn or tending the garden, where she could escape all and feel her own person. In the crowded confines of her uncle's house it was now impossible, and the singular attention of her father was sorely missed as she considered the number of times she had attended him in his library for mutual solace and entertainment, provoking a tear she was determined not to shed.

Her thoughts turning thus, she gave a startled cry of amazement that immediately set Kitty to asking with laughter, "What is it Lizzy? Are you ill with love?"

"I am sure she is," Lydia took the trouble of answering, "and not just for love. Lord, how strange it is to think you are marrying Mr. Darcy! We must write to the militia, and tell all our old friends, but I am sure they will not believe us, especially a certain officer who will be very pained by it, I daresay."

Surprisingly, their censure came from Mrs. Bennet, who was too uncertain of how her least favoured child had attracted such a match to be very secure in it, though not in general backward to credit what was for the advantage of her family.

"Here now, we have much more to think of than officers!" she cried with firm stricture. "Especially ones we had best not speak of now. But write to our friends we shall, and I expect each of you to give more thought to your penmanship. I am sure the Darcys are of a nature to expect it, and we will do best to not displease them in any way we can help. Now, Jane, do attend me in my dictation to Lady Lucas, as I desire above all else to acquaint her of everything that has occurred."

Elizabeth scarcely heard the remainder of her speech, for all her thoughts were seized by the reminder that whereas she had thought parted with most of her remaining memories of her father forever, she was now again the possessor of his library through the care of Mr. Darcy! Her desire for solitude was forgotten, and she discovered a desperate need to see again those volumes which, but days earlier, she had disposed of without any great emotion.

Seeking out her aunt while her courage was high, she found her attempting to finish some correspondence as the youngest boy played at her feet. "Aunt Gardiner," she asked quickly, drawing her attention, "do you not think we should call on Miss Darcy, and thank her for the kindness she showed us?"

"Yes, she was very kind, her brother scarcely less so," was her aunt's response, and Elizabeth at first blushed anew at her smile, but managed to return it in the face of such good humour. "I have not yet offered my congratulations, Lizzy, though you must know our opinion of the matter, and I do wish I could oblige you in this request. I am afraid I am fearfully behind, though, and so unable to accompany you."

"Oh, of course."

"However," Mrs. Gardiner continued amiably, "I am sure we should all be grateful if the children could be driven to the park, for they are grown quite restless with so many about; and if you do not mind the inconvenience of engaging one of your sisters in the excursion, you may certainly drop our card while you are out."

This scheme she seized at once, and found her patience sorely tried as she was made to withstand the furor her simple request caused amongst her family. Mrs. Bennet at once declared she should not leave the house. "You can not expect to behave as you did before, Lizzy, now that you are pledged to Mr. Darcy! What would he think if he heard you were in the park, alone?"

"I have no intention of going alone. Surely five companions are enough to satisfy anyone's sensibilities."

"And to go walking in the morning! I am sure it is not done in town, indeed I know it is not. Besides, you shall grow far too brown if you go, and you are already too much to begin with. No, I will not hear of your leaving this house! And what if the Darcys should come?"

This last charge Elizabeth did not attempt to answer, for she was certain the splendid Darcy carriage would never worry them by losing its way to such a place as Gracechurch Street, and she was determined not to consider the slight pain it gave her. Instead, she cheerfully turned aside the other objections with the aid of her uncle, and by the reassurance that she instead meant to visit the illustrious family at their home.

Upon hearing this, Mrs. Bennet quickly changed her mind on the propriety of her daughter leaving the house, and insisted that not one of the other girls were available, but there again she met resistance. Lydia and Kitty, desperate to quit the house, loudly argued over who should go, and Mary also asked the privilege.

Had it not been Jane's dedication in returning their mother's attention to her letters, the matter might never have been settled. At last Kitty won out by simple virtue of having finished her first missive, addressed to Miss Maria Lucas, to her mother's satisfaction, at which Lydia loudly exclaimed that she should have thrice as many done, and better, by the time they returned.

Elizabeth only smiled at the industry her sisters betrayed to an activity they had not paid the least attention to in perhaps a twelvemonth, and decided that if such improvement, however shallow, should be accomplished by a mere engagement, the wedding must see them become almost completely sensible. Soon they were in the coach, with their young cousins joyfully calling their wishes and anticipation for the outing.

Once arrived, they enjoyed some time along the paths and by the river; but after the novelty of the day's happy surprise had been overcome, the children's attentions turned to an object of greater curiosity for them: their mysterious new cousin. Without the impediment of censure for their boldness, they soon went beyond merely ascertaining where he hailed from and who in their family was of his acquaintance. The boys asked if he was taller than their father, at which affirmative they loudly declared he must be a giant, and began picturing fantastical representations of their fair cousin living in a castle, while also plotting how they should rescue her. The girls sagely dismissed their young brothers' exuberance, though Grace appeared quite taken by the image of Elizabeth as a princess.

"Is he very handsome?" she asked innocently.

"Of course he must be," her sister answered. "He is a _gentleman_, and owns a very grand estate." These firm evidences of her superior knowledge she considered enough to prove her point, though Grace was not so persuaded.

"But I heard Aunt Bennet say he was frightful, and that does not sound handsome to me."

"Oh, he is!" Catherine exclaimed, then stopped short of saying further at a quick look from Elizabeth, to the younger party's bewilderment.

"Then it is very fortunate that I am the one to marry him," Elizabeth intervened before any more false impressions should be formed; "for I find he is very handsome, and not so very frightful as my mother."

"Should I be a great gentleman," the elder Gardiner boy said, "I should be frightful to everyone, and never marry at all!"

His sisters proclaimed they should not allow it, and the topic was quickly dropped in favour of Elizabeth's suggestion that they find whether the puppets were out that day. This diversion delighted everyone, and their speech might only have consisted of woods and dogs, but for the fate of young Joseph's shoe.

It was drawing close to one o'clock, and they had just begun to consider turning to go, when the offensive article was discovered missing. In vain did they question him on the subject, for the poor boy was too young to recall when it had happened or understand why he should be concerned for it. Neither could his brother or sisters provide a credible answer, only offering such scorn for his carelessness that Joseph was prompted to cling to his cousin's skirts and cry softly.

Burdened by too many displeased persons to credibly manage at once, Elizabeth lifted the boy into her arms and directed her sister to take the elder girl and boy on a search in the direction of the river. "He was very fond of the ducks, were you not?" she asked him hopefully, but received no more answer than a gasped sob. Kitty, looking very relieved at her lot, quickly left with her charges.

"Cousin Lizzy!" Grace drew her attention as Elizabeth attempted to lead them along one of the trails they had strolled. "See, that horse is coming toward us!"

Indeed, upon looking up, Elizabeth observed a cariole approach driven by none other than Mr. Darcy. With some degree of mortification at how they must appear, she nevertheless turned to meet him. The gentleman at once stopped and stepped down, as he and his sister offered their greetings. Elizabeth smiled in answer to the young lady's warm welcome, and was just introducing the children, when Joseph cried in amazement, "But you are no ogre!"

Grace, to her credit, hid her mirth behind her hands, while Miss Darcy only looked startled; but it was Mr. Darcy's curious expression that nearly caused Elizabeth to laugh, for it was the first truly surprised look she had ever seen to grace his countenance. Before she could fully recover herself to make amends, though, he nodded quite solemnly to the boy and said,

"I thank you for the kind compliment."

His tone was serious, but held just a trace of that something as had sometimes graced it during her experience at Netherfield, causing Elizabeth to look up in time to catch the traces of a smile light his face. He looked wonderful, she suddenly decided, for all his features had softened in a picture of good humour and ease. "May we be of some service?"

The question drew Elizabeth back to the matter at hand, and she smiled apologetically. "I am afraid you find us in a true emergency, and for want of a shoe the joy of our stroll has been lost. My sister has taken the other children to search for it, and we were just about to begin our own hunt."

She half-expected their companions to shrink in the face of such an ordinary, careless affair, and go back about their ride. Instead, she was surprised to see Mr. Darcy deepen his smile and at once offer the use of their vehicle. At such a prospect both Grace and Joseph cried with joy, all thought of the unhappy accident forgotten, and the boy was handed up to Miss Darcy with not a tear to be seen.

When Mr. Darcy turned to offer her a hand, though, Elizabeth politely demurred. "I am afraid I am no horsewoman sir; my cousin and I will walk."

"Much as you may enjoy the latter occupation, it would surely do you no discredit to learn the former."

"Perhaps, but there is little time for it."

"And is time the chief objective? I had rather thought it was the shoe."

There was such a lightness to his speech as she had never experienced, and yet not, for it was perfectly his usual pitch and tone; instead, where before there had sounded but a single note, now it felt as though several chords were struck, and she could hear each slight intonation as it merged. Almost she believed he was teasing her, or challenging. Nowhere was censure of any kind to be found.

"Then I shall require your lead," she at last replied, and in short order both she and Grace were safely helped up. Miss Darcy took the reins at first, after a slight encouragement from her brother and Elizabeth, and proved a most capable instructress by example as they turned back along the lanes previously passed by the Bennets and Gardiners. Conversation was mostly limited to the art of driving and the exclamations of the children at the novelty of riding behind a pony.

After this brief tutorial, Elizabeth was called upon by all concerned to take the reins herself. Mr. Darcy then took up a place by the animal's head to help in guiding it, though he first assisted Elizabeth in cupping her hands correctly about the leathers. It may have been supposed that his absence from the immediate company was made more acute due to this tender direction, but Elizabeth found she missed more his close remarks than touch.

Georgiana, however, proved a perfectly wonderful companion, and was much encouraged to speak by the children, who were not yet of an age to be made shy or coy by the style of her hem or cost of her gown. Their impression was that she was both pretty and friendly, the two most necessary characteristics for their approval, and they loudly pronounced her so, to general delight.

They were not very successful in their stated purpose, but no one was inclined to grieve for it, and they turned back in gay spirits. Eventually they met up with Kitty and the other two children, who had been more victorious, but with perhaps not so pleasant an outcome, for the negligent footwear was so indiscreet as to mire in a thick mud just past the shore. It had been rescued by the valiant efforts of its owner's brother, who wore his ruined coat with all the pride of a medal.

Elizabeth suspected the boy had already been scolded soundly, from the looks he and Kitty exchanged, and was in too good a mood to care what the Darcys thought of such a display. Contenting herself with shaking a smiling head, she announced they should surely have to return home now. Envy threatened to steal the boy's valour as his brother and sister were handed down from a very splendid ride. Elizabeth was just searching for some comment to soothe the tempers of all as Mr. Darcy helped her down, when she felt his hand tighten around hers, drawing her eyes to meet his own. "Is your carriage waiting you at the entrance?" he asked in a half-whisper.

"Yes, it should be." Forcing any hesitation she felt aside, she continued, "We had actually planned on calling after leaving here, but I am afraid Robert's brave rescue will prevent us the pleasure today. He is in no condition to be admitted anywhere, least of all your grand house." No sooner had she said the words than she regretted them as sounding presumptuous or rude, and the slight downward cast of Darcy's eyes at their mention seemed to confirm it.

Rather than retreat, though, he turned back to her with a very inscrutable expression, which put her at once on her guard. "If the house is your only concern, I may safely assure you it has withstood muddied boots and coats before. And I believe it would be much easier for the cariole to be cleaned than your uncle's coach."

The eyes of almost everyone were on them, but for once it seemed her companion was unaware of the attention, or perhaps it was that he was more able to overcome his unease in the face of addressing her. Elizabeth was not sure which to believe, and found she was no longer so surprised by his gallantry, but that she had believed he would act otherwise.

There was real grace in what he offered, that and something else, something she thought already settled: his actions and words seemed to ask that she trust him, not just with the acceptance of his hand, but all which was entailed in that acceptance. Her earlier misjudgements of the man, even on this very day, leapt to the forefront of her thoughts, and for the first time she sincerely repented them, not just for duty's sake, but because they pained her.

After a moment's consideration, she replied, "We would be delighted, sir, for your hospitality. We would be honoured for Miss Darcy to join us in the carriage, if it would be pleasing to you both."

The warm smile she received in answer struck her more than the loud glee of her cousin when he was invited up to join Mr. Darcy. As they walked alongside them to the carriage, Elizabeth found renewed cause to laugh at herself. Contentment had now been supplanted as the chief of those emotions associated with Mr. Darcy.


	14. Chapter 46

**Author's Note**: Thanks you to all my kind reviewers and readers for bearing with me as I attempt to continue. I apologize for the long delays in chapters that has occurred: to those who have kind enough to liken me to Austen, I will only "colour" and say that the true owner of these sometimes difficult characters would surely have not found such trouble writing a single afternoon. The story is not complete, but may took even more time to finish. Thanks again for your patience, support, and reviews. They are most appreciated.

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**Chapter 46**

The ride was short but enjoyable, as Elizabeth was pleased to observe Kitty overcome her initial shyness to sensibly converse with Miss Darcy. _She_ was overcome by the joy of receiving so many wonderful new relations, and was especially solicitous towards her sister, begging that they come to know each other as intimately as possible.

"I am so delighted, so happy! I am sorry for not attending you better when you called, or offering you my joy."

"There was nothing lacking, Miss Darcy. It is rather your brother's fault, and mine, since we were so secretive."

"Oh, no, it was all for my sake, I am sure, that I might not be overwhelmed by the news. He is always ever so kind, so thoughtful. I do not deserve it."

Her last words were quieter than had been the entirety of her speech before, with a trace of some serious regret that Elizabeth felt sensitive to at once, though confused as to its reason. "Well, I must defer to your superior understanding, though I am not of the same opinion personally. I can not believe Mr. Darcy would bestow his attentions on anyone who did not merit them."

When they had arrived, Elizabeth at once sought out the cariole's passenger, and was pleased to find him still in great spirits, so that he suffered the removal of his boots and coat with laughter rather than temper, and was even persuaded to cheerfully wash his face before joining the others at a setting of cake and fruit. Had there been any lingering doubts over their new cousin, the children were decided by this latest civility: they adored Georgiana, and felt her brother must be the best man of their knowledge, saving only their father. Robert perhaps was more generous in his praise of the pony than its owner, and his florid description of their ride through town was such that Elizabeth quietly asked Mr. Darcy if her cousin had been much trouble to him.

"No, not at all. He was perfectly controlled."

This statement she could not help but laugh at. "Perfectly controlled? There I am afraid I do not believe you, for surely no child could be so, when faced with such excitement as I have now heard mentioned."

"Perhaps not as some would understand. Allow me to rephrase the description: he was as well behaved as any young boy riding through town in a splendid gig could be expected."

"And are you then often in the habit of driving about with young bedraggled company, Mr. Darcy, or do you speak from personal experience?"

To this he made no comment, only looking very thoughtful. Elizabeth, fearing she had caused offence in such a teasing inquiry, attempted to turn her attention more toward the conversation started between Georgiana and Catherine, on the merits of some fashion. She was called back to her companion, though, by his eventual reply,

"The circumstance is as oft repeated as when I walk three miles in dirty weather: it requires an exemplary motive to occur."

She stared at him with some incredulity, and was only barely aware that their sisters had also looked up in some surprise at his words. His countenance was serene, his words calm, but his demure smile caused her to believe that despite all her expectations, he _was_ teasing her. How different did their former conversations now appear! But, with that knowledge, how should she now respond?

Her brief hesitancy she set aside as the slightest trace of uncertainty crossed his features in her silence. "How unlucky that you have such a means of reproof, and with my own conduct! Now I do not dare ask further: Robert, your secrets are quite safe from me."

This pardon prompted the recipient to laugh gaily at his good fortune, causing his family to share in his humour. After a moment, even Miss Darcy's startled, fearful expression turned to a shy smile. Barely had Elizabeth observed this then her eyes were drawn to the brother's, who looked with great pleasure at his sister's felicity, and then at her with the same good expression, tinged with a feeling she thought might be gratitude; but for what cause she could not understand.

The grapes, nectarines, and peaches were soon gone, and with some danger of boredom creeping upon them, Grace found the courage to ask for her cousin to play for them. Elizabeth at once refused, saying she had not truly practised in months, and deferred in favour of their hostess. At her praises, the children turned their united efforts on poor Georgiana, who after some gentle encouragement from the others, finally agreed to a short piece. Kitty at once offered to assist in turning the pages rather than be left to the whims of lovers and children, and the two soon began a light prelude.

Its bright tempo and style tempted the youngest children to clap and move about the instrument, and they were greatly confused when both Bennet sisters implored them to stop. Elizabeth particularly was dismayed as they raised the objection that she should play, and surely then they could dance like they were accustomed to at home. Glancing with some chagrin at their host, she saw him turned away, and murmured an apology for the interruption. Mr. Darcy at once looked back, lips pursed, but appeared unable to form a reply.

Before either could speak, though, Susan strongly ordered her sister and brothers to not behave in such a silly way. "It is not at all a dancing song, and you are not doing it right. Besides, there is not a proper line to form, for Grace and Robert should have to be partners, and then I would have to stand up with Joseph, who is really too little, and neither of the boys have shoes on!" Not distracted by the pained insolence of those she chastised or the pointed looks of her cousins, she marched in righteous anger to the sole champion to be found in the room. "You are a gentleman, Mister Darcy, please show them the _right_ way to do it."

Her pleas did not provide the exact model of decorum she might have wished, for they provoked a deep, rich laughter from Darcy, whose struggles to curtail this display had been overcome by the most singular invitation to dance ever extended him. Elizabeth smiled herself, but quickly attempted to excuse him, by explaining that he was not very fond of dancing.

"But why?" Grace asked, and her sister appeared equally mystified by such an uncharacteristic flaw in a gentleman.

"I am afraid Miss Elizabeth may be recalling certain facts of our acquaintance which are not entirely satisfactory on my part." This rather long statement was quite beyond the girls, though Elizabeth caught the allusion with some discomfort at her own conduct then, and began to blush in earnest as he looked up in amusement to say, "I would be honoured to ask for your hand, Miss Gardiner, were your father here to offer his permission. As it is, would your cousin do in your place?"

"Oh, yes!" Both girls exclaimed at this romantic suggestion, and saw to the choosing of the correct score, and the arrangement of their disreputable brothers on the settee, with great energy. They then took seats themselves, and the couple were allowed to begin at a word from Susan to start the music.

Their first turn was met with generous applause from their audience, and much mirth as Elizabeth finished out the step with an invisible dancer to her right. As the space was limited, the partners returned to each other quickly, and were forced to wait some beats before beginning the next turn. She was enjoying herself more than she could have anticipated, and he looked very well as pleased. "Do you now find dancing a better pastime than previously?" Elizabeth asked as they took up hands again.

"More that the duty is not so unwelcome with a good partner," said he, smiling.

"I suppose a good lady would feel all the compliment of the suggestion, and agree prettily, but I can not. Surely it is not too onerous a duty: I have always dearly loved an assembly, even with partners I could not admire."

"Such as dragons and ogres?" he asked after a pause, and where Elizabeth had nearly coloured anew with shame at her words and the memories they might evoke, she now laughed.

"No, I can not recall ever dancing with either such personages, and I would surely remember if I had. Come, this subject will not do, and I am tired of your always having the advantage of me. You must tell me something about yourself, something I do not know and could never guess."

They were separated then by the dance, but Elizabeth was no longer interested in pretending other partners, and was impatient to hear the actual one's answer. "I am the only heir in four generations without a brother," he said as they rejoined.

Elizabeth shook her head. "I already knew of your lack, and am unimpressed by the severity of it. You have not answered me at all."

"At Pemberley there is a saloon about this large, but it faces the lake and is much pleasanter," he tried again with some confusion, but she would not allow him to finish, and grasped his hand tighter as they turned, saying:

"I am sure it is, and your family as great, but that is not where my interest currently lies. I am asking of _you_, Mr. Darcy. What are _your_ secrets?"

A sense of wonder and delight passed over his features, though it was quickly schooled to a small smile, so that had she not been paying close attention, Elizabeth might have missed the look completely. This whisper of his esteem she found more dear and precious than had it been loudly exclaimed, and she doubted now that he could ever appear haughty to her again, no matter his attempts.

The emotion in his words was as his manner. "I had dreamed of dancing with you again, but it never ended so beautifully as now."

Elizabeth was barely aware of the final cord struck, and only curtsied out of habit, for his words had startled her beyond anything since his proposal. Of course, then he had spoken of the heart, had detailed his struggles with as much expression of the reasons against as for, and later had only seemed serenely happy rather than violently in love. She was sensible of the compliment that favour alone accorded, and believed herself capable of matching it, but now felt herself completely unworthy of the feelings being shewn her. She was mortified, flattered, and, as never before in her life, amazed at her own ignorance. Having placed a great value on her abilities and sophistication, scorning Jane's generous candour, Elizabeth had thought herself quite prepared for any and all attentions granted her, carefully laughing away any affectation of interest. She had never before counted on inspiring love of any great value to anyone.

She discovered, as she stared in mute astonishment, that she was quite terrified by the prospect.

A servant entered with the boys' freshly cleaned shoes, and the visit was soon brought to a close. Catherine and Georgiana appeared as distressed by the parting as any of the others, and an invitation was extended for any of the Bennet sisters to join her in shopping with Mrs. Annesley. The children all exclaimed loud goodbyes, the girls offering very correct curtsies, and the boys bowing quite formally in a manner Elizabeth thought very much a copy of Darcy's own courtesy . There was much talk as they went out to the carriage, and she was unsurprised, though no less apprehensive, when he remained close to her side just behind the main party.

"I thank you, Miss Elizabeth, for the pleasure of your company today," said he.

"No, we must be thankful to you, it was perfectly generous," she quickly corrected, anxious to please as she not been since a child.

His smile was more brittle than warm. "I believe it was really perfectly selfish. It prevented me having to find the will to call myself, as I should have done to speak to your uncle." His reply was somewhat grave, but that no longer signified anything to her, for it was simply part of who he was. She could not imagine him greatly different than he had been today, and found she did not wish to. "His words have given me much to consider."

"It was not his intention to be difficult. He is only so impressed with the duty he feels for us now, he is grown more sombre by it than usual."

"He was not difficult at all; it is more that I had not a doubt as to how he would react prior to receiving him, any more than I had of your acceptance. To find that one's vanity is so able to confuse matters is more than slightly humbling." Darcy's tone was polite but detached, and his countenance betrayed an agitation behind its gravity.

"My sister tells me that pride and vanity are not the same," she answered, frightened but sincere, "and if that is so, it is I who must be first to beg forgiveness, for I have enjoyed more than my share of the latter than is prudent for any thinking person, and so injured more than my share of the former."

"_You_?"

"Yes. With your greater experience and understanding, you can not be insensible to how I have behaved, however much I would wish it otherwise now. I am grown heartily ashamed of myself."

The children had already climbed into the carriage in impatience with their betters' tardiness, and their two younger sisters stood by the door in conversation, so that Elizabeth and Darcy were almost quite alone. With a brief glance at these proceedings, he reached forward slightly and took her hand, and she was pleased to stop the gasp that threatened to override his speech as he said, "I am afraid my own behaviour has not been above reproach, and was justly censured by some of that which you claim the fault in."

She coloured and smiled in despair at his deference. "Oh, I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression of my blame, I am not good enough for _that_. You are really far too kind to say otherwise."

"You can not truly believe that."

The firm confidence and trace of humour she detected in his expression prevented any serious reply, and she gratefully found her good spirits returning as she said, "Then let us not quarrel for the greater position of modesty. I don't believe it is the right way to begin an engagement."

"No indeed; the right way would be for me to call on your family, rather than expecting you to always find errands in the park."

"Certainly, it is quite the proper thing to do," she agreed cheerfully. "But I do not believe good manners ought to preclude errands in the park. I find them _most_ instructive."


End file.
